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PIPETOWN  SANDY 


SANDY    1JKGAN    SLOWLY     \O    CIKCI.K    AKOl'M)    HIM 


PIPETOWN  SANDY 


By 
JOHN  PHILIP  SOUSA 

Author  of  The  Fifth  String 


With  illustrations  by 

CHARLES  LOUIS  HINTON 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1905 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

SEPTEMBER 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I     IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FlNGERS  I 

II    SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  26 

III  ZORAH  DABNEY  39 

IV  "PlCKIN"  AlGS"  58 

V   OLD  MAN  JEBB  67 

VI    WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER  92 

VII    MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  109 

VIII   THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  121 

IX    DOING  IT  BROWN  152 

X   JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  169 

XI    "I'VE  BEEN  FIGHTIN'"  188 

XII    SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  205 

XIII  JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  227 

XIV  JOHN  HILDEY  239 
XV    WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS  253 

XVI    THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  265 

XVII    "Two  GENTLEMEN,  BORN  AN*  BRED"  291 

XVIII    SANDY  ON  THE  WATCH  301 

XIX    CHRISTMAS  EVE  311 

XX    POOR  LILY  332 

XXI    SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  350 

XXII    ON  THE  RIVER  368 

XXIII    GOOD-BY  381 


PIPETOWN  SANDY 


PIPETOWN  SANDY 

CHAPTER   I 
IT  's  AU,  IN  THE;  FINGERS 

Miss  Latham  rapped  sharply  with  her  ruler. 

"Class  in  arithmetic,  attention,  please!" 

The  boys  recovered  from  their  lounging  posi- 
tions and  sat  upright,  awaiting  further  instruc- 
tions from  the  speaker. 

"Sponge  your  slates  and  sharpen  your  pen- 
cils." 

The  class  at  once  became  surprisingly  active. 
The  buzzing  sound  of  the  children's  whisperings 
and  the  clatter  of  slates  and  pencils  grew  louder 
and  louder. 

"Less  noise,  please,"  the  teacher  admonished. 

After  quiet  had  been  somewhat  restored,  Miss 
Latham  cast  her  eyes  carefully  over  the  class. 
All  the  pupils,  save  one,  were  ready  for  the  les- 
son. This  delinquent  sat  with  a  hang-dog  ex- 
pression on  his  face  and  a  snake-like  gleam  in 


2  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

his  eyes.  The  sneer  on  his  lips  and  his  air  of 
indifference  were  very  annoying  to  the  school- 
mistress. 

"Thomas,  we  are  waiting!" 

"I  don't  want  to  do  no  sums,"  was  the  reply. 

"Where  is  your  slate,  Thomas  ?" 

"In  my  desk,"  growled  the  boy. 

"Get  it  immediately,  and  prepare  to  take  down 
the  figures  I  call  off." 

Shuffling  his  feet  and  moving  about  sullenly, 
the  boy  took  his  slate  from  the  desk  and  let  it  fall 
with  a  crash. 

"Thomas,  how  many  times  must  I  tell  you  not 
to  bang  your  slate?" 

"I  didn't  bang  it;  it  banged  itself!"  he 
snapped  back. 

"Quiet,  I  say ;  do  not  talk  so  loudly !" 

"I  ain't  talkin'  loudly.  If  yer  think  it's  loudly 
yer  'd  better  stick  a  bale  er  cotton  in  yer  ears," 
—and  Thomas  looked  around  for  some  sign  of 
approval. 

"You  must  behave  yourself  and  not  be  im- 
pertinent," insisted  the  teacher,  with  an  effort  to 
be  patient. 

"  'Tain't  impertinent.  I  don't  want  to  do  no 
sums,  an'  what's  more,  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  no 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  3 

sums!" — and  he  buried  himself  in  his  seat,  with 
legs  extended  under  the  desk  and  hands  thrust 
into  his  trousers  pockets. 

"Come  here,"  called  Miss  Latham,  in  a  manner 
more  severe  than  is  generally  accredited  to  a 
pretty  young  woman  of  twenty-four,  with  a 
melodic  voice  and  a  sympathetic  heart. 

"I'll  see  yer  scorchin'  in  the  fi'ry  furnace 
fust,"  cried  the  boy. 

"Thomas  Foley,  do  you  hear  ?    Obey  at  once !" 

"I'll  swing  afore  I  do,"  came  the  swift  retort. 

"Then  you  must  remain  after  school  every  day 
for  a  week,  and  I  shall  see  that  you  do  not  sneak 
away  as  you  did  last  Monday.  Your  mother 
thought  you  were  here,  when  you  were  on  the 
river  skating.  You  shall  not  deceive  her  again, 
if  I  can  help  it.  Bring  me  your  skates,  and  I  will 
keep  them  until  you  promise  better  behavior." 

"If  yer  wants  'em,  come  an'  git  'em," — and 
squarely,  he  placed  his  elbows  on  the  desk,  as  if 
to  protect  the  skates  within. 

Miss  Latham  quietly  walked  toward  the  refrac- 
tory pupil,  then  firmly  removing  his  arms  from 
the  desk,  raised  the  lid  and  took  out  the  skates. 
The  boy  made  a  grab  for  them,  and  in  the  scuffle 
struck  her  a  stinging  blow  in  the  face  with  his 


4  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

open  hand.  Grasping  his  coat  collar,  the  teacher 
shoved  him  back  into  the  seat. 

"You're  a  mean,  contemptible  coward;  take 
your  books,  you  are  dismissed!" 

She  returned  to  her  desk,  where  she  nervously 
wrote  a  note  and  sealed  it.  "Give  that  to  your 
mother;  it  will  explain  why  you  have  been  sent 
home." 

"Who  cares?"  he  said,  as  he  came  forward  to 
take  the  note,  and  then  shambled  toward  the  door. 

With  this  incidental  excitement  over,  the  class 
once  more  settled  to  work,  and  slates  and  pencils 
were  brought  into  requisition.  Miss  Latham 
rapped  for  attention. 

"Write  on  your  slates,  for  addition,  the  fol- 
lowing: 4-3-6-11-8-13-9," — and  the  musical  voice 
of  the  pretty  teacher  intoned  the  figures  clearly 
and  roundly. 

"As  soon  as  any  one  sums  them,  let  me  know." 

She  had  scarcely  completed  the  sentence  when 
a  little  hand,  thin  and  almost  transparent,  was 
raised. 

"Please,  Miss  Maisie!" 

"What  is  it,  Gilbert?"  asked  the  schoolmis- 
tress. 

"I  have  the  answer."    The  boy  was  very  pale, 


IT 'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  5 

frail  and  slender,  with  lustrous  black  hair  and 
brown  eyes,  and  apparently  not  over  twelve  in 
years. 

"Bring  your  slate  here,  Gilbert,  and  let  me 
see  it."  The  lad  walked  quickly  to  the  desk  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"Correct,  and  very  neatly  written,"  —  and 
Miss  Latham  patted  the  little  fellow's  head  ap- 
provingly. 

Within  a  few  minutes  all  the  boys  but  one  had 
mastered  the  example.  He  sat  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  left  hand,  his  tongue  projecting 
from  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  the  perspiration 
dotting  his  forehead  in  great  beads,  and  his  eyes 
glued  on  the  problem  before  him.  His  lips  moved 
as  he  wrote,  and  figure  after  figure  appeared  on 
his  slate  only  to  be  rubbed  out.  Long-drawn 
sighs  were  heard  at  intervals^  and  despair  seemed 
pictured  on  his  face. 

"Sandy,  we  are  waiting;  all  the  pupils  have 
the  answer  but  you." 

Sandy  looked  up  with  an  apologetic  air,  and 
drawled :  "It's  mighty  tough  on  ev'rybody  havin' 
ter  wait  on  me,  Miss  Maisie,  but  I  ain't  quite  got 
the  hang  of  it  yet," — slowly  shaking  his  head  and 
heaving  another  hopeless  sigh. 


6  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Gilbert  looked  across  the  aisle  and  observed 
the  other  boy.  It  was  Gilbert's  first  day  at  school, 
and  he  had  been  so  engrossed  with  his  studies 
and  the  exciting  incident  of  the  day,  that  he  had 
paid  little  attention  to  his  companions,  save  in 
the  most  desultory  way.  Sandy,  the  boy  who  was 
struggling  with  the  problem,  was  fairly  tall,  raw- 
boned,  much  freckled,  with  a  little  stubby  nose, 
and  hair  that  was  very  red. 

"Homely  as  a  hedge  fence,"  was  the  general 
description  of  him,  but  with  all  his  plainness 
there  was  a  look  of  sincerity  in  his  face,  and 
through  the  merry  twinkle  of  the  bluest  of  blue 
eyes  shone  a  soul  fearless  and  brave.  Gilbert 
was  attracted  to  him  immediately. 

Sandy,  still  intent  on  his  task,  sighed  again, 
then  raised  his  hand  slowly,  and  said:  "Mebbe 
I've  got  the  right  answer,  Miss  Maisie."  He 
arose,  half  reluctantly,  and  tiptoed  toward  the 
teacher. 

Miss  Latham  glanced  at  the  slate,  and,  with 
a  slight  touch  of  asperity,  said:  "Sandy!  Sandy! 
will  you  ever  learn  ?  Your  answer  is  all  wrong." 
Her  foot  tapped  impatiently  on  the  floor,  and 
then  looking  in  the  direction  of  Gilbert,  she  said : 
"Take  your  slate  and  sit  down  by  the  little  fellow. 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  7 

Perhaps  Gilbert  can  explain  to  you  how  easy  this 
sum  in  addition  really  is." 

Sandy  slowly  retraced  his  steps  down  the 
aisle,  and,  crossing  over,  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
Gilbert,  who  took  the  older  boy's  slate  to  see  how 
the  example  was  written  out. 

With  a  good-humored  smile  at  the  odd  twist- 
ing of  the  figures,  Gilbert  turned,  and,  placing  his 
hand  on  the  other's  arm,  with  assurance  and  sym- 
pathy, began: 

"My  father  says  there  have  been  some  awfully 
smart  people  high  up  in  the  world,  who  were  not 
worth  shucks  in  doing  sums  in  arithmetic." 

"When  did  yer  father  say  that?"  doubtingly 
asked  Sandy. 

"Oh,  lots  of  times.  He  says  one  of  the  great 
Roman  generals  had  to  have  some  one  around  to 
count  up  for  him,  and  you  know  great  Roman 
generals  were  away  up,  and  no  mistake,"  said  lit- 
tle Gilbert  impressively. 

"Yes,  I  seen  one  in  the  theater  onct,  actin', 
but  he  didn't  git  'way  up,  'cause  he  couldn't  do 
no  sums," — and  the  older  boy  dubiously  shook 
his  head. 

Without  apparent  notice  of  the  interruption, 
Gilbert  continued  with  a  mighty,  philosophic  air: 


8  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"The  Roman  general  wasn't  half  so  much  in- 
terested in  sums  as  he  was  in  war;  if  he  had  been, 
he  would  have  learned  them  all  right !" 

"I  ain't  a-sayin'  nuthin'  'bout  what  a  Roman 
gen'ral  would  or  wouldn't  'a'  done,  but  I  know 
my  pore  old  mother  would  be  mighty  glad  if 
somebody  squirted  some  book-1'arnin'  into  my 
noddle.  Folks  all  tells  her  I  won't  never  amount 
to  nuthin'  in  school,  an'  I'm  beginnin'  to  believe 
it  myself,  fer  I'm  fifteen  years  old." 

Gilbert,  looking  at  the  dejected  boy,  carefully 
sponged  out  Sandy's  incorrect  work  and  put  the 
figures  of  his  example  across  the  top  of  the  slate 
— 4-3-6-11-8-13-9. 

"Now,  let's  take  the  figure  4  for  a  starter,  and 
then  add  3.  We  do  that  by  taking  three  of  your 
fingers  and  adding  them  to  the  four;  four,  five, 
six,  seven,"  counting  on  Sandy's  upraised  and 
outstretched  hand,  and  turning  down  each  finger 
until  seven  was  reached. 

"That's  right,"  said  Sandy.  "Lemme  try  it 
alone."  Slowly  he  told  off  three  of  his  fingers. 
"Yes,  that  comes  out  two  times  runnin',  an'  I  see 
jest  how  it's  done." 

The  boy's  face  seemed  illumined  by  a  new 
light. 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  9 

"We  take  the  next  figure,  6,"  said  Gilbert,  his 
manner  a  laborious  copy  of  his  teacher's.  "We 
already  have  seven,  and  now  we  add  the  six,  by 
counting  all  the  fingers  on  one  hand,  and  one  on 
the  other;  thus — seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven, 
twelve,  thirteen.  Now  you  try  it."  After  some 
hesitation  on  Sandy's  part  he  succeeded  in  the 
addition. 

"Then  we  will  add  the  next,  eleven." 

"  'Leven's  a  whopper !"  exclaimed  the  older 
boy. 

"Hold  up  both  hands,"  said  Gilbert.  "Eleven 
uses  up  all  your  fingers  and  thumbs,  and  one  of 
mine.  That  makes  thirteen,  fourteen,  fifteen, 
sixteen,  seventeen,  eighteen,  nineteen,  twenty, 
twenty-one,  twenty-two,  twenty-three,  and  my 
finger,  twenty-four.  Take  eight  more  fingers," 
counting  them  off,  "that  makes  thirty-two;  the 
thirteen,  all  yours  and  three  of  mine,  summing 
up  forty-five,  to  which  we  add  nine  fingers,  mak- 
ing a  total  of  fifty-four,  which  is  the  answer. 
Now,  you  try  it  from  the  beginning;  you  can  do 
it  all  right,"  said  the  smaller  boy,  carefully  con- 
cealing his  pride  in  his  superior  knowledge. 

Slowly,  but  with  confidence,  and  occasionally 
prompted  by  his  little  preceptor,  Sandy  success- 


10  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

fully  and  triumphantly  did  the  example.  A  great 
happiness  crept  into  his  heart,  as,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  added  figures  with  certainty. 
He  gazed  on  Gilbert  with  unmistakable  admira- 
tion. 

The  little  fellow  had  led  him  out  of  the  maze 
of  puzzling  addition.  At  last  he  knew  why  u 
and  4  were  15,  and  not  51,  when  placed  under- 
neath each  other.  He  laid  his  hand  lightly  on 
the  shoulder  of  his  new-found  friend  and  said : 

"Hope-I-may-die,  but  ye're  the  cutiest  little 
codger  I  ever  seen." 

He  held  up  his  left  hand  and  slowly  counted. 
"Yes,  he's  right;  it's  all  in  the  fingers.  An'  to 
think  I  never  had  'nough  gumption  to  see  it  afore 
this  little  codger  showed  me."  Then  he  took  the 
slate  to  Miss  Latham,  who  praised  him  for  ac- 
complishing the  task. 

"It's  dead  easy;  I  never  knowed  afore,  'cause 
yer  never  told  me  nuthin'  'bout  fingers ;  'deed  yer 
didn't,  Miss  Maisie.  Yer  said  a  lot  'bout  numer- 
als, an'  sich  like,  but  nuthin'  'bout  fingers." 

"It's  all  in  the  fingers,"  soliloquized  Sandy,  as 
he  returned  to  his  seat.  "It's  all  in  the  fingers,  an' 
I  never  knowed  it  afore." 

The  recess  bell  rang  and  the  boys  filed  out.  No 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  1 1 

sooner  had  Sandy  passed  through  the  door  than  a 
complete  metamorphosis  took  place.  With  a  long- 
drawn  Indian  war-whoop,  ending  in  a  "dare  yer 
to  foller,"  he  executed  a  series  of  cartwheels  and 
handsprings,  winding  up  by  standing  on  his  head, 
and  then  turning  a  number  of  somersaults. 

It  was  a  transformation  indeed,  from  the  slow- 
going  pupil  of  the  school-room  to  the  quick  ac- 
tive boy  outside,  all  life  and  spirits.  In  truth, 
there  was  no  one  in  Pipetown  to  approach  Sandy 
as  an  all-around  athlete. 

Gilbert  had  spent  much  of  his  life  in  the  sick- 
room, and  like  most  frail  boys  had  always  been 
fascinated  with  sports  that  demand  skill  and  mus- 
cle. In  Sandy  he  saw  the  embodiment  of  the 
youthful  hero.  Sandy  was  coming  on  with  a  hop- 
skip-and-jump,  and,  turning  at  least  ten  success- 
ive handsprings  around  his  new-found  admirer, 
he  said : 

"Say,  little  feller,  don't  yer  know  how  to  do 
these  'ere  things?"  and  he  turned  another  hand- 
spring. 

"I  never  was  allowed  to  try,"  said  Gilbert,  and 
then,  apologetically:  "You  see,  I  have  been  sick 
nearly  all  the  time  since  I  was  five." 

"Gosh,  that's  tough !"  said  the  older  gravely. 


12  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"But  if  yer  wants  to  try  one,  I'll  show  yer  the 
hang  of  it.  They're  as  easy  as  dirt  when  yer  git 
useter  'em," — and  by  way  of  illustration  he  exe- 
cuted a  dozen  backward  and  forward. 

"Golly,  that's  great!"  gasped  the  little  fellow. 

"Jest  try  it  onct,  I  won't  let  yer  hurt  yerself." 

"I'll  try  it,  but  I'm  sure  I  can't  do  it,"  said  the 
younger  boy,  although  anxious  to  follow  Sandy's 
instructions. 

"Git  down  on  all  fours ;  now  put  yer  hands  flat 
on  the  ground  like  a  monkey.  Give  me  yer  feet ; 
that's  all  right;  I'll  hold  yer  up  by  the  legs  an' 
rock  yer,  while  yer  git  useter  the  rush  o'  blood 
in  yer  noddle." 

After  Sandy  had  swayed  Gilbert  for  a  minute, 
he  exclaimed,  "How's  that?" 

"All  right,  I  guess,"  pantingly  replied  the  little 
one,  the  exertion  proving  almost  too  much  for 
him.  Sandy,  realizing  this,  helped  him  to  his 
feet. 

"That's  bully  good.  Yer've  got  sand  in  yer 
craw,  an'  as  soon  as  yer  gits  a  little  muscle,  yer'll 
do  'em  as  slick  as  yer  please." 

Before  the  recess  was  over,  Gilbert  had  almost 
succeeded  in  accomplishing  a  handspring,  with 
but  slight  assistance  from  his  athletic  companion. 


IT 'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  1 3 

Then,  as  Sandy  and  he  walked  into  the  school- 
room together,  the  older  boy  patted  him  on  the 
back  and  remarked :  "Yer've  got  lots  'er  sand  and 
ye're  all  right." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  teach  me?"  queried  the 
younger. 

"  'Tain't  no  teachin'  in  it 't  all,  it's  jest  sand  an* 
gittin'  the  hang  of  it,  that's  all.  Why,  if  I  don't 
have  yer  doin'  cartwheels  in  a  week,  yer  can  call 
me  a  liar,  an'  my  name  ain't  Sandy  Goggles." 

The  little  fellow's  eyes  sparkled  with  a  sudden 
joy.  Was  it  a  dream,  he  thought,  or  would  he 
really  do  a  cartwheel  in  a  week? 

"O  Sandy,  you  don't  mean  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

"In  course  I  do,"  said  Sandy  with  absolute  as- 
surance. "Yer  see,  everythin'  is  everythin'  in  this 
'ere  world.  If  yer  ain't  got  it  yer  might  as  well 
cave  in.  In  handsprings  an'  sich,  sand  is  every- 
thin'. In  'rithmetic  an'  numerals,  it's  fingers.  All 
yer  have  to  have,  is  to  have  it,  an'  there  ye  are! 
Yer'll  be  doin'  cartwheels  in  a  week,  hope-I-may- 
die  if  yer  don't." 

The  boys  went  back  into  the  school-room  and 
resumed  their  seats. 

The  class  in  geography  was  called,  and  the 
members  stood  in  the  aisles  next  to  the  wall.  The 


14  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

first  boy  was  about  to  name  the  states  forming 
the  northern  part  of  the  Union,  when  a  sharp 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  almost  imme- 
diately Tom  Foley's  mother  rushed  in,  holding 
her  unruly  son  by  the  collar,  and  literally  dragging 
him  after  her.  The  woman  was  so  angry  that  she 
did  not  notice  how  at  every  stride  she  ran  the  boy 
against  some  obstruction.  First  it  was  the  door, 
then  the  hat-rack,  and  finally  the  chairs  loosely 
placed  about  the  teacher's  platform.  Each  sepa- 
rate bump  brought  a  cry  from  the  boy,  but  the 
excited  woman  grasped  his  collar  more  tightly, 
and  shouted :  "I'll  teach  you  to  bring  disgrace  on 
your  hard-working  mother!" 

"I  ain't  doin'  nuthin',"  came  with  the  yells  from 
her  son. 

"Please  do  contain  yourself,  Mrs.  Foley,"  im- 
plored the  teacher. 

The  irate  woman,  in  appearance  almost  too 
young  to  have  a  son  of  fourteen,  her  handsome 
face  flushed  with  excitement,  her  eyes  flashing 
with  anger,  brought  up  suddenly  in  front  of  the 
desk.  Plumping  the  terrified  boy  firmly  on  his 
feet,  with  her  hand  still  on  his  collar,  she  ad- 
dressed the  schoolmistress. 

"Maisie  Latham,  this  is  the  third  time  this 


IT 'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  1 5 

brat  has  been  sent  home  this  month.  Do  I  pay 
you  to  suspend  him,  or  to  eddicate  him  ?  Answer 
me  that !  You  get  fifty  cents  a  month  in  advance 
for  teachin'  him,  and  I'm  not  a-payin'  for  nothin'. 
I've  brought  that  paper-backed  book  you  sent  me 
before  this  boy  came  to  your  school,  to  remind 
you  what  I'm  payin'  for." 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  small  pamphlet, 
and  read  slowly  and  emphatically:  "  'The  object 
pf  Miss  Maisie  Latham's  school  for  boys,  is: 
First :  To  arouse  the  mentality  of  the  pupil  and  to 
awaken  his  power  to  think.  Second:  To  foster 
a  sturdy  moral  nature  and  develop  the  scholar's 
individuality.  Third:  To  perfect  the  student  in 
those  general  studies  that  lead  to  a  preparatory 
course/ 

"Now,  that's  the  object  of  your  school,  as  you 
say  right  here  in  black  and  white.  'Tain't  nothin' 
'bout  suspensions,  and  bein'  incorrigible,  as  I  can 
decipher," — and  triumphantly  she  closed  the  book 
and  waited  for  the  teacher's  reply. 

"Mrs.  Foley,"  said  the  young  schoolmistress, 
"I  feel  that  your  anger  is  justified.  My  own  pa- 
tience with  Thomas  is  exhausted,  for  I  have  tried 
over  and  over  to  make  him  see  the  error  of  his 
ways." 


1 6  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"See  the  error  of  his  ways!"  said  the  mother, 
accentuating  her  words  by  shaking  the  boy.  "See 
the  error  of  his  ways!"  she  shouted  still  louder; 
"  'tain't  no  good  tryin'  to  make  him  see  the  error 
of  his  ways;  make  him  feel  'em.  Ouch!"  she 
cried,  as  the  boy  suddenly  grasped  her  arm  and 
bit  until  the  blood  came. 

"You  imp  of  darkness,  I'll  whip  you  within  an 
inch  of  your  life  for  that."  In  an  instant  she  had 
seated  herself  in  a  chair,  and,  pulling  him  over  her 
lap,  she  gave  him  a  thrashing  that  remained  in  the 
memory  of  every  boy  present  as  the  most  thor- 
ough dressing-down  he  had  ever  beheld. 

When  Mrs.  Foley,  breathing  heavily,  had  fin- 
ished punishing  her  son,  she  stood  him  on  his  feet 
until  his  lamentations  changed  from  ear-piercing 
shrieks  to  subdued  sniffling.  Then  she  said,  al- 
most coaxingly: 

"Now,  Maisie,  take  him  back,  if  it's  only  to 
keep  him  out  of  the  street.  He  won't  do  a  blessed 
stroke  of  work  about  the  house,  and  if  he  don't  go 
to  school,  he'll  go  to  the  dogs  sooner  than  he 
would  anyway." 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Foley,"  said  the  teacher,  "I'll 
take  Thomas  back,  and  I  trust  he  will  be  a  good 
boy  in  the  future,  and  give  us  no  further  trouble." 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  17 

"Thank  you,  Maisie,  I  do  hope  you'll  excuse 
me.  That  boy  cuts  me  up  so  I  lose  myself,  and 
jest  bile  over."  Turning  to  her  son :  "Go  back  to 
your  seat  and  behave  yourself.  If  you're  sent 
home  again,  I'll  skin  you  alive.  Your  daddy  was 
a  loafer,  and  I'll  kill  you  afore  I'll  let  you  foller  in 
his  steps." 

She  shook  hands  cordially  with  Miss  Latham, 
and  walked  toward  the  door  with  the  parting 
shot:  "If  you're  sent  home  again,  I'll  bury  you 
so  deep  the  Lord  won't  find  you !"  And  she  was 
gone. 

Tom  walked  sullenly  to  his  seat,  ever  and  anon 
rubbing  his  nose  with  his  sleeve.  Dink  Dabney, 
who  was  next  to  Curley  Harris,  whispered : 

"If  I  knows  what  I'm  talkin'  about,  I  spec' 
Tom  would  be  powerful  more  comf'table  if  he 
wuz  standin'."  Whereat  Curley  laughed,  and 
the  teacher  rapped  to  start  anew  the  interrupted 
lesson. 

Gilbert,  being  the  newest  scholar,  was  placed 
at  the  foot  of  the  class.  The  system  permitting 
the  pupil  correctly  answering  a  missed  question 
to  "move  up  one,"  or  two  or  more,  according  to 
the  number  of  failures,  was  in  vogue  at  Miss 
Latham's  school. 


1 8  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Before  the  lesson  was  over,  Gilbert,  by  leaps 
of  fives,  and  tens,  and  twelves,  was  at  the  head  of 
the  class.  Sandy,  who  had  been  solidly  intrenched 
at  the  foot  since  the  opening  day  of  school,  be- 
came once  more  a  fixture  there. 

"Sandy,  name  one  of  the  Northern  States," 
said  Miss  Latham. 

"Did  yer  say  one  of  the  Northern  States,  Miss 
Maisie?"  echoed  Sandy,  sparring  for  time,  and 
scratching  his  head. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  question." 

"Lemme  see," — drawling  this  slowly,  stroking 
his  forehead,  and  looking  perplexed. 

"Hurry,  Sandy,  we  can  not  wait  all  day,"  said 
the  teacher  a  little  impatiently. 

"I'm  awful  sorry,  Miss  Maisie,"  replied  Sandy, 
"but  jest  now  I  disremember  whether  Lou'siana 
will  do  fer  an  answer;  but  if  it  don't  how  would 
Georgyfit?" 

"Sandy,  Sandy,  will  you  ever  comprehend? 
When  the  class  go  to  their  seats,  you  sit  down  by 
Gilbert  Franklin  and  let  him  teach  you  the  names 
of  the  Northern  States.  He  might  be  able  to  get 
them  through  your  head;  I  despair  of  doing  so." 

"Yes,  I'll  go  right  off,"  responded  Sandy,  de- 
lighted, while  the  little  fellow  was  overjoyed  at 


IT'S  AU,  IN  THE  FINGERS  19 

the  prospective  pleasure  of  having  Sandy  next  to 
him. 

The  older  boy  came,  and  opening  his  geog- 
raphy at  the  page  containing  a  map  of  the  North- 
ern States,  he  whispered:  "There  they  are,  all 
bunched  together,  an'  they  look  harder'n  a 
puzzle." 

Smilingly  Gilbert  commenced.  "My  father 
says  absent-minded  people  forget  things,  because 
they  do  not  consider  them  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance. Perhaps  that's  what  you  think  about  the 
Northern  States?" 

"No,  I  ain't  absent-minded,"  said  Sandy 
slowly.  "We  had  a  man  down  our  way,  whose 
folks  called  him  absent-minded.  But  one  day, 
when  the  snow  wuz  a  foot  thick,  he  came  out  in 
the  street  with  no  more  shoes  on  than  a  crow,  an' 
the  bug-doctor  grabbed  him  an'  clapped  him  into 
the  'sylum.  The  bug-doctor  said  he  wuz  luny. 
That  ain't  my  trouble.  I've  got  all  my  buttons. 
I  simply  ain't  got  no  noddle  fer  Farnin'." 

From  the  moment  these  two  boys  had  come  to- 
gether, until  the  last  one  of  their  school-days, 
Gilbert  impressed  upon  Sandy  that  he  was  not 
the  only  one  deficient  in  the  things  he  was  trying 
to  learn.  Then,  too,  he  saw,  even  though  vaguely, 


20  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

with  a  child's  imperfect  comprehension,  that 
Sandy's  chief  need  was  a  stimulus  to  his  interest. 
We  have  already  noticed  in  the  simple  addition, 
how  the  mist  was  swept  from  Sandy's  brain  by 
using  the  fingers  for  counting,  and,  as  the  studies 
progressed,  Gilbert,  with  true  pedagogic  instinct, 
employed  the  game  of  base-ball,  the  names  of 
streets,  the  number  of  houses  in  a  block,  the  dif- 
ferent species  of  birds,  and  almost  any  concrete 
thing  for  purposes  of  intellectual  aid.  Before  the 
school  was  dismissed  on  this  first  day  of  their 
meeting,  Sandy  had  learned  to  name  every  North- 
ern State,  from  Maine  to  Delaware. 

As  the  two  boys  filed  out  after  the  second  ses- 
sion, they  walked  slowly  down  the  street,  and  at 
a  little  store  on  the  corner  a  block  from  the  school, 
Sandy  stopped  and  said : 

"Jest  wait  a  minit,  Gil,  while  I  go  into  Jebb's. 
I've  got  ter  git  some  darnin'  yarn  fer  mother,  an' 
I'll  be  out  in  a  jiffy." 

While  Sandy  went  inside,  Gilbert  stood  on  the 
corner  swinging  his  books,  and  feeling  very,  very 
happy.  The  distinguished  consideration  on  the 
part  of  the  boy  who  was  teaching  him  to  do  hand- 
springs, and  now  asked  him  to.  wait,  was  most 
gratifying. 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  21 

Tom  Foley  and  Dink  Dabney,  about  a  hundred 
yards  off,  were  coming  toward  him,  and  by  their 
gestures  it  was  clear  that  Gilbert  was  the  subject 
of  their  conversation. 

"I'll  allow  he  knows  his  lessons  better'n  the 
rest  of  the  gang,  but  I'd  rather  never  know 
nuthin'  than  be  a  mama's-boy,"  said  Tom. 

"He  don't  look  like  no  mama's-boy.  In 
course,  he  ain't  strong  and  healthy  like  us,  but  he 
don't  look  like  no  mama's-boy,"  ventured  Dink. 

"I  betcher  he  is,  an'  what's  more,  I'd  betcher 
ten  potterskills,  if  I  had  'em,  I'd  scare  him  outer 
a  year's  growth  by  jest  sayin'  Boo!" 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  no  ten  potterskills  to  betcher, 
but  if  I  had,  I'd  betcher  he  ain't  no  mama's-boy, 
an'  he  won't  scare  worth  a  cent,"  retorted  Dink 
warmly. 

"Watch  me,"  said  young  Foley.  By  this  time 
they  were  within  a  few  yards  of  Gilbert,  who  was 
gazing  through  the  window  into  the  store.  As 
the  boys  came  nearer  he  turned,  and,  with  that 
smile  which  one  boy  always  gives  another  when 
he  wishes  to  get  on  particularly  friendly  terms, 
he  looked  inquiringly  at  Dink  and  Tom. 

"Eh,  mama's-boy,  I  wants  to  talk  to  yer," 
sneeringly  called  the  latter. 


22  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Gilbert  drew  himself  up  quickly,  and  a  slight 
flush  suffused  his  face. 

Foley  came  closer,  leaned  forward  with  half- 
clenched  fists,  and  snarled :  "I  hears  yer  laughed 
when  my  old  she-cat  mother  wore  herself  out 
whackin'  me  to-day." 

Gilbert  looked  the  other  boy  squarely  in  the 
face,  and  answered :  "Well,  you  didn't  hear  right ; 
I  was  sorry  for  you." 

"I  don't  want  none  of  yer  sorrer!"  hissed  the 
other.  "D'yer  hear  me?  I  don't  want  none  of  yer 
sorrer,  an'  I  gives  yer  to  understand,  she  didn't 
hurt  me,  nuther." 

"I  thought  she  did,"  said  Gilbert,  looking  into 
the  sneaking  eyes  of  the  bully.  "She  must  have, 
for  you  cried  like  a  yellow  dog." 

"What  d'yer  mean  by  callin'  me  a  yaller  dog?" 
shouted  Foley,  drawing  back  his  left  as  if  to 
strike. 

Gilbert  surveyed  the  larger  boy  from  head  to 
foot  with  a  look  of  smiling  curiosity,  and  .said 
gravely,  "I  did  not  say  you  were  a  yellow  dog; 
I  said  you  cried  like  a  yellow  dog." 

"Well,  it's  mighty  lucky  fer  yer  that  yer  took'd 
it  back,  fer  if  yer  hadn't,  I'd  a-punched  yer  head 
in  a  minit." 


"SANDY!  SANDY!     WILL  YOU  EVER  LEARN?"  Paged 


IT'S  ALL  IN  THE  FINGERS  23 

Sandy  came  out  of  the  store  at  this  moment, 
and  in  three  strides  was  between  the  boys.  He 
looked  at  Tom  and  said : 

"Punch  nuthin'!  Why,  Snarley  Foley,  yer 
wouldn't  punch  a  cabbage-head,  'less  it  wuzn't 
lookin'.  What  yer  pickin'  on  the  little  feller  fer?" 

"He  said  I  hollered  like  a  yaller  dog  when  the 
old  woman  whacked  me,  an'  I'm  going  to  take  it 
out  er  his  hideA  see  if  I  don't."  But  he  made  no 
effort  to  carry  his  threat  into  execution. 

"You  won't  take  nuthin'  out  er  nobody's  hide. 
Put  that  in  yer  pipe  an'  smoke  it." 

Sandy  turned,  and,  looking  at  Gilbert  as  if  he 
were  mentally  weighing  the  outcome  between  the 
two  boys  if  they  should  clash,  he  said:  "If  I  sez 
the  word,  the  little  feller  'ud  fight  yer  at  the  drop 
of  er  hat,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  let  him  sile  his  hands 
on  yer;  leastwise,  not  jest  yet," — and  he  gently 
backed  the  smaller  boy  away.  Young  Foley 
made  a  step  toward  Gilbert. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Sandy,  "yer  sp'ilin'  for  a 
scrap.  Well,  if  yer  wants  to  fight,  here's  Dink; 
he's  yer  size,  an'  what  I  say,  Dink'll  say,  won't 
yer,  Dink?" 

"In  course  I  will,"  said  Dink,  proud  of  the 
mighty  Sandy's  patronage. 


24  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Sandy,  pointing  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand 
at  Tom,  spoke  slowly : 

"I  sez,  Snarley  Foley,  that  yer  hollered  like  a 
yaller  dog  when  yer  mother  whacked  yer." 

"An'  I  repeats  it,"  said  Dink  in  a  louder  tone. 
"Yer  hollered  like  a  yaller  dog,  so  yer  did." 

"An'  I  sez,  furthermore,"  continued  Sandy 
contemptuously,  "yer  squealed  like  a  stuck  pig." 

"An'  squealed  like  a  stuck  pig,"  repeated  the 
imitative  Dink,  getting  closer  to  the  scared  bully, 
who  now  began  to  back  away. 

"An',"  added  Sandy,  doubly  pleased  with  the 
addition  of  this  invective,  "yer  bellered  like  a  sick 
calf." 

Dink,  with  his  fists  doubled,  eyes  glistening, 
and  a  look  that  boded  no  good  for  the  frightened 
coward,  fairly  howled  at  Tom,  "An'  yer  bellered 
like  a  sick  calf." 

With  a  look  of  fear,  Snarley  turned  tail,  and 
ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

The  three  boys  laughed  loudly  and  derisively  at 
the  fleeing  figure,  and  shouted  after  him  in  uni- 
son :  "Go  bag  your  head ;  boo-oo-oo !  boo-oo-oo !" 

Then  they  picked  up  their  school  books,  and  at 
the  next  corner,  where  Dink  parted  from  Sandy 
and  Gilbert,  he  confided  to  them  that  "If  Snarley 


IT'S  AU,  IN  THE  FINGERS  25 

Foley  had  er  sed  beans,  I'd  banged  him  any- 
way." 

Dink  assured  Gilbert,  with  many  protestations 
of  eternal  friendship:  "If  that  Snarley  Foley 
ever  interferes  with  yer,  jest  tell  him  to  call  on 
me,  an'  I'll  polish  him  off." 

"I  knowed  he'd  run  like  a  scared  dog  when  I 
sick'd  Dink  on  him,"  said  Sandy,  and  he  and  Gil- 
bert disappeared  down  the  street. 


CHAPTER  II 
SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  family  physician's  man- 
date that  Gilbert  should  be  allowed  to  go  out  and 
mix  with  the  other  children  of  his  age,  and  not 
be  for  ever  confined  within  the  four  walls  of  his 
home,  the  boy  probably  would  never  have  been 
enrolled  as  a  scholar  in  Miss  Latham's  school.  In 
all  likelihood,  by  another  year  he  would  have 
been  goose-greased,  mutton-tallowed,  red-flan- 
neled,  and  quinined  into  an  untimely  grave. 

Luckily  for  the  happiness  of  Gilbert's  family, 
the  old  physician's  patience  at  last  became  ex- 
hausted. One  night,  on  being  sent  for  because 
the  little  fellow  was  "wheezy,"  he  said  sternly :  "If 
you  want  to  raise  that  boy  you  had  better  let  him 
out  to  get  all  the  fresh  air  of  heaven  he  can  in 
his  lungs." 

"But,  Doctor !"  exclaimed  the  grandmother  ap- 
prehensively, "suppose  he  gets  into  a  draught?" 

"Or  if  his  feet  get  wet?"  added  the  mother  ner- 
vously, 

26 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  27 

"And  diphtheria  is  so  prevalent,"  protested  his 
sister  Edith  alarmingly. 

"Or,"  lisped  little  six-year-old  Lillian  in  a 
croaking  voice,  "wake  up  with  a  croup,  like  me." 

And  the  four  alarmists  appealed  to  the  doctor 
not  to  bring  such  dire  calamities  upon  Gilbert. 

"Do  not  let  us  borrow  trouble,"  protested  the 
old  practitioner  wearily.  "Let  us  hope,  rather, 
that  the  boy's  mind  will  have  a  rest  from  inces- 
sant study,  and  that  his  nervous  condition  will 
disappear  when  he  is  playing  outside.  Should  his 
feet  get  wet  and  cold,  he  will  run  about  until  they 
are  dry  and  warm  again,  and  the  change  from  the 
over-heated  temperature  of  this  house  to  the  life- 
giving  air  that  blows  without,  no  doubt  will  dis- 
courage all  sorts  of  disease  germs.  I  tell  you  now, 
I  will  not  be  responsible  for  consequences,  if  you 
fail  to  follow  my  advice."  He  arose,  and  drew  on 
his  driving-gloves  and  departed. 

There  is  no  edict  so  imperious,  so  inimical 
to  further  opposition  or  argument,  so  all-compel- 
ling in  its  scope  as  the  family  doctor's  "I  will  not 
be  responsible  for  the  consequences." 

From  Grandmother  Franklin  down  to  little  Lil- 
lian, the  decree  was  accepted,  and  Gilbert  was 
spending  his  first  day  at  school. 


28  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

The  family  expected  him  home  at  a  few  min- 
utes after  three.  It  was  now  nearly  four.  No 
watchers  for  the  return  of  a  loved  one  from  afar, 
after  years  of  absence,  could  have  shown  more 
restlessness  than  did  the  Franklin  family  when 
the  hour  at  which  they  had  looked  for  the  boy 
had  passed  and  he  had  not  yet  appeared. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  him,"  nervously  asked 
the  grandmother,  going  to  the  front  porch  and 
with  shaded  eyes  looking  up  the  street  in  the 
direction  of  the  school.  Returning  to  her  chair  in 
the  parlor  beside  the  window,  she  watched  in- 
tently for  his  coming,  ever  and  anon  repeating 
her  quest  and  her  question. 

"I  hope  and  pray  no  accident  has  happened  to 
him,"  said  the  mother,  showing  grave  concern. 

"Sho',  Mis'  Nanny,"  broke  in  the  colored  cook, 
Delia,  addressing  Mrs.  Franklin;  "nuthin'  ain't 
goin'  ter  happen  ter  ma  little  honey  boy.  It's 
only  fo'h  by  the  kitchen  clock,  an'  mebbe  he's 
a-restin'  of  hisself  afore  comin'  home.  I  spec's 
yo'll  be  seein'  him  mos'  enny  minit." 

"I  think  I  had  better  go  and  find  him.  I'll  never 
forgive  myself  if  anything  has  happened  to  him. 
One  of  us  should  have  remained  with  him  on  this, 
his  first  day  at  school,  and  the  only  time  he  has 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  29 

ever  been  away  from  us.  I'm  going  to  find  him," 
— and  the  foolish  parent,  nervous  and  worried, 
went  to  her  room  for  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

This  useless  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  women 
of  the  Franklin  household  had  pursued  Gilbert 
since  he  was  a  mere  child,  their  attitude  at  all 
times  being  one  of  fear  that  something  dreadful 
was  about  to  happen,  and  that,  if  it  did  not,  the 
escape  was  providential. 

Once  more  the  grandmother  jumped  up,  laid 
her  knitting  down,  and  with  an  expression  of  re- 
lief and  happiness  walked  to  the  front  door.  Gil- 
bert was  in  sight  a  block  away,  and  was  just  bid- 
ding good-by  to  a  taller  boy,  who  turned  down  a 
side  street. 

Calling  to  the  mother,  the  old  lady  shouted: 
"Nanny,  Nanny,  hurry  down!  Here  he  comes, 
and  I  do  declare*  he  is  a  hop-skip-and-a-jumping 
as  if  he  had  never  been  sick  in  his  life."  The 
mother  came  quickly,  and  went  out  on  the  porch 
with  the  older  one  to  greet  the  little  fellow  as  he 
bounded  up  the  steps. 

Gilbert  was  almost  breathless,  his  cheeks  were 
flushed  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  excitement. 
He  kissed  them  both  lovingly,  and  taking  each  by 
the  hand,  exclaimed : 


30  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Oh,  grandma,  mama!  you  should  see  me  do 
a  handspring!  Oh,  it's  great!  Sandy  says  I've 
got  the  sand,  and  you  can  always  do  handsprings 
if  you've  got  the  sand  and  get  the  hang  of  them. 
Come  on,  let's  go  in,  and  I'll  show  you  how  I  do 
them." 

"Handsprings!"  exclaimed  the  puzzled  but 
happy  mother,  and  the  three  generations,  hand 
in  hand,  marched  proudly  into  the  house. 

"Now,  watch  me !"  said  Gilbert ;  "you  see  they 
are  done  this  way.  I  get  down  on  all  fours  and 
spread  out  my  hands  just  like  a  monkey.  Now, 
grandma,  you  take  hold  of  my  right  foot," — and 
he  raised  that  particular  pedal  extremity,  while 
she  obediently  followed  his  instructions.  "Now, 
ma,  you  take  hold  of  the  other  foot ;  there,  that's 
right.  Hold  me  up  straight,  and  you'll  see  I  am 
standing  on  my  hands." 

"But,  Lord  alive,  child,  you'll  have  a  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head!"  The  two  ladies  showed 
alarm. 

"That's  nothing!"  said  Gilbert  with  absolute 
nonchalance.  "Sandy  says  that's  nothing ;  all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  rock  the  body  to  and  fro,  and  get 
used  to  it.  I  am  already  used  to  it.  Just  try 
me."  And  together  they  swayed  the  little  fellow. 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  31 

"Now,  let  go,"  he  quickly  called.  Then  he  bal- 
anced himself  on  his  hands  for  a  moment,  and 
scrambled  to  his  feet  all  breathless,  but  proud  of 
his  achievement. 

"Of  course,  I  can't  do  them  well,  but  if  you 
want  to  see  how  beautiful  handsprings  really  are, 
you  should  see  Sandy  do  them."  Then,  with  a 
sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm :  "Sandy  says  he  will 
have  me  doing  cartwheels  in  a  week.  Won't  that 
be  great?" 

Mother  and  grandmother  in  turn  pressed  the 
little  fellow  to  their  hearts  and  kissed  him  ten- 
derly. The  older  lady  led  him  over  to  her  chair, 
and  putting  her  arms  around  him,  asked : 

"Who  is  this  Sandy  you  are  telling  us  of  ?  I 
hope  he  is  a  good  boy." 

"Sandy  is  wonderful,  grandma,  though  he  says 
himself  he  never  had  any  opportunities.  Up  to 
this  year,  he  has  had  to  do  chores  and  be  gen- 
erally handy,  just  to  keep  the  pot  boiling,  but  now 
he  is  going  to  school  regularly.  He  told  me  all 
about  his  family  when  we  were  coming  home 
from  school  this  afternoon." 

"Who  is  his  father?"  asked  the  grandmother. 

"His  father  was  Mr.  Dan  Goggles,  Private 
Dan  Goggles.  He  was  a  soldier  and  went  to  the 


32  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

war.  Abe  Lincoln  called  for  volunteers,  and 
Sandy's  father  went  right  up  and  said  he'd  go. 
Sandy's  mother  didn't  want  him  to,  but  as  he  had 
promised,  she  said  it  would  not  be  right  for  him 
to  back  out.  So  he  went,  and  she  took  in  plain 
sewing.  Sandy  said  his  father  wasn't  afraid  of 
anybody  that  toted,  I  mean  carried,  a  gun,  and 
they  marched  off  with  the  bands  playing,  and 
Sandy's  mother  crying  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"The  regiment  hung  around  here  and  there, 
skirmishing  and  scouting,  and  getting  used  to  be- 
ing shot  at,  besides,  and  doing  all  sorts  of  des- 
perate things  for  the  honor  of  the  flag.  After  a 
while  they  got  right  on  the  battle-field  before  they 
knew  it,  and  the  firing  began,  bang-bang!  ping- 
ping!  The  regiment  was  facing  grape  and  can- 
ister and  chain  shot,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
what  else,  and  besides  were  outnumbered  ten  to 
one.  And  lo,  and  behold!" — continued  the  little 
fellow,  his  eyes  blazing  as  he  strode  up  and  down 
excitedly, — "everybody  was  shot  down  and  cut 
to  pieces,  except  Sandy's  father  and  the  general. 
The  general  rode  down  the  line,  waving  his  sword 
and  shouting,  'Mr.  Goggles,  all  is  lost;  if  you 
want  to  get  out  alive,  you'd  better  run  like  hell.' ' 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  33 

"What!"  exclaimed  his  grandmother,  aghast. 

"That 's  what  the  general  said,"  insisted  Gil- 
bert with  an  air  of  conviction ;  "I'm  sure  of  it,  for 
Sandy  said  so,  and  Sandy  wouldn't  tell  a  lie — I 
mean  a  falsehood — for  anything.  Sandy's  father 
yelled  to  the  general,  'The  Coggleses  never  run/ 
and  he  started  toward  the  enemy.  The  entire 
enemy  shot  at  him,  all  at  once,  and  off  went  his 
leg," — and  here  Gilbert  struck  an  attitude.  "Of 
course,  the  enemy  saw  that  it  was  not  fair  to 
shoot  at  a  man  with  one  leg,  so  they  requested 
him  to  surrender.  He  wouldn't  have  done  it, 
but  he  had  run  out  of  ammunition,  and,  besides, 
he  hadn't  got  used  to  hopping  around  on  one  foot ; 
so  he  gave  up,  came  home,  and  received  eight 
dollars  a  month  pension,  besides  a  cork  leg  every 
two  years,  'which  was  mighty  little/  says  Sandy, 
'when  everything  was  so  high.' ' 

The  little  fellow  mentally  reviewed  his  recital 
of  Sandy's  story,  to  note  if  he  had  forgotten  any- 
thing of  importance.  Putting  his  arms  about  his 
grandmother's  neck,  and  stroking  her  silvery  hair, 
he  continued  confidently,  "I'm  sure  you'll  think 
Sandy  splendid,  when  you  meet  him." 

"I  earnestly  trust  all  of  us  will  find  Sandy  as 
splendid  as  you  do," — and  the  grandmother  went 


34  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

out  to  greet  Gilbert's  father,  who  was  just  return- 
ing from  his  office. 

After  supper  the  little  fellow  gave  an  exhibi- 
tion of  his  newly-acquired  accomplishments  in 
athletics  for  every  member  of  the  household  in 
turn  and  then,  tired  and  sleepy,  he  went  to  bed. 

His  grandmother  came,  snugly  tucked  the  cov- 
erlets about  the  tired  boy,  and  bent  over  to  kiss 
him  a  fond  good  night.  He  closed  his  eyes,  and 
drowsily  murmured :  "Grandma,  don't  you  wish 
you  could  do  handsprings?  If  you  want  to 
learn,  I'll  have  Sandy  come — I'll  have  Sandy — 
Sandy — "  and  he  was  fast  asleep. 

At  the  home  of  Mrs.  Goggles  there  was  much 
surprise  and  delight,  when  the  supper  things  were 
cleared  away,  to  see  Sandy  take  out  his  arithmetic 
and  geography,  and  sit  down  to  study.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  been  known  to  apply  him- 
self to  his  books,  or  even  to  bring  them  home. 
When  his  mother  would  ask  where  they  were,  his 
usual  answer  was:  "I  kind  er  disremember  jest 
this  minit  where  I  left  'em.  I  wuz  a-playin'  ball, 
an'  Dink  Dabney,  or  Curley  Harris,  or  mebbe 
somebody  else,  is  lookin'  out  for  'em.  They'll 
turn  up  all  hunkey  to-morrer." 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  35 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  joy  of  Mrs. 
Goggles  when  she  actually  saw  her  son  prepare 
for  study. 

Five  minutes  passed  in  absolute  silence.  The 
mother  arose,  went  to  the  stove,  raked  the  ashes 
from  underneath  the  grate,  returned,  and  sat 
down  to  her  sewing.  Another  five  minutes,  and 
the  only  sound  was  the  ticking  of  the  mantel- 
clock.  Sandy  looked  up  and  said :  "Mum,  we've 
got  the  cutiest  little  codger  a-comin'  to  Miss 
Maisie's  yer  ever  did  see." 

"Law  sakes,  Sandy,  what  makes  yer  think  so?" 
asked  the  mother  with  genuine  interest,  for  he 
was  a  most  reticent  boy,  and  it  was  "like  pullin' 
teeth,"  she  had  often  remarked,  "to  git  anythin' 
out  er  him  'bout  anybody  or  anythin'." 

"'Cause  I  know,"  replied  Sandy,  in  a  voice  that 
carried  absolute  conviction. 

"Who  does  he  belong  to?"  said  Mrs.  Goggles. 

"He's  Mr.  Franklin's  boy,  as  lives  up  on  G 
Street,  in  that  'ere  three-story  house  with  the  bay- 
winders  an'  the  big  front  yard,  all  filled  with 
trees,"  answered  the  son. 

"I  knows  the  place  well,"  nodded  Mrs.  Gog- 
gles, "it's  where  Sukey  Bell  used  to  cook  an'  do 
general  housework  an'  washin',  Sukey  says 


36  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

they're  orful  nice  folks,  got  lots  of  money,  an' 
ain't  stuck  up  a  bit  about  it.  Sukey  says,  too, 
that  they  has  double  parlors  on  each  side  of  the 
hall,  with  communicatin'  doors  that  jest  open  an' 
shet  like  an  accordeon.  Sukey  onct  told  me,  in 
her  opinion,  it  was  the  mos'  scrumptious  house  in 
Pipetown,  an'  she  orter  know,  for  sence  she's  been 
out  in  service,  which  is  nigh  on  to  ten  years,  she's 
worked  for  every  family  about  here.  What  wuz 
yer  goin'  to  tell  me  about  their  little  boy?" 

"Well,  the  little  codger  come  to  school  to-day 
for  the  fust  time  in  his  life,  an'  he  beats  anything 
holler  I  ever  seen.  Why,  he's  a  walkin'  diction- 
ary," said  Sandy  with  enthusiasm,  bringing  his 
hand  down  on  the  open  book  before  him. 

"Do  tell — a  walkin'  dictionary!"  and  the 
mother  put  special  accent  on  "walking." 

"That's  what  I  sez — a  regular  walkin'  diction- 
ary. Now,  I'll  jest  show  yer.  Ask  me  how  much 
six,  seven,  an'  eight  is.  Go  ahead  quick;  jest  ask 
me," — and  Sandy  leaned  forward,  expectant  of 
the  question. 

The  old  lady,  not  knowing  just  what  a  walk- 
ing dictionary  had  to  do  witH  the  question,  said, 
almost  mechanically:  "How  much  is  six,  seven 
an'  eight,  Sandy?" 


MUM,     WE'VE    GOT    THE    CUT1EST    LITiLK    CODGER    A-COM1N*    TO 

MISS  MAISIE'S  YER  EVER  DID  SEE"  Page 35 


SANDY'S  HANDSPRINGS  37 

"Now,  watch  me,"  said  the  boy.  "We  start 
with  six,  then  we  add  seven,  that's  all  the  fingers 
on  one  hand  an'  two  on  this  'ere  one.  That  makes 
six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thir- 
teen ;  now  we  add  eight ;  that's  five  fingers  on  one 
hand  an'  three  on  t'other.  That  makes  thirteen, 
fourteen,  fifteen,  sixteen,  seventeen,  eighteen, 
nineteen,  twenty,  twenty-one,  an'  that's  correct, 
an'  yer  can't  fool  me.  Yer  kin  count  thousands 
an'  thousands  without  ever  gittin*  left ;  all  yer  got 
to  have  is  fingers  enough." 

"Oh,  Sandy,  how  did  yer  learn  it?  It's  the 
fust  time  I  ever  know'd  yer  ..to  sum  up," — and 
proudly  the  woman  walked  over  to  her  son  and 
kissed  him. 

"It's  all  in  the  fingers,  mum;  the  little  codger 
show'd  me,  an'  I  never  know'd  it  afore." 

"Now,  take  g'ography,"  continued  Sandy, 
warming  up.  "It's  jest  the  same  'cept  g'ography 
is  base-ball,  an'  'rithmetic  is  fingers.  Per  ninstence, 
take  the  Northern  States;  Maine  is  right  field, 
New  Hampshire  is  center  field,  Vermont  is  left 
field,  New  York  is  third  base,  Connecticut  is  short- 
stop, Massachusetts  is  second  base,  Rhode  Island 
is  fust  base,  New  Jersey  is  pitcher,  Delaware  is 
ketcher,  an'  Pennsylvania  is  at  the  bat.  Now  ask 


38  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

me  what  third  base  is ;  New  York,  in  course.  Yer 
can't  fool  me,  an'  I  never  know'd  it  till  the  little 
feller  told  me." 

The  interested  boy  took  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
drawing  the  plan  of  a  base-ball  field,  wrote  the 
names  of  the  states  in  the  positions  with  which 
Gilbert  had  associated  them,  then  handed  it  to  his 
mother  and  said,  "I  dare  yer  to  try  to  fool  me." 

To  all  her  questions,  his  answers  were  invaria- 
bly correct,  and  mother  and  son  were  proud  and 
happy.  It  was  getting  late,  and  Sandy  put  out 
the  milk-can,  closed  the  shutters,  locked  the  door, 
and  waited  for  his  mother  to  retire.  After  she 
had  gone  he  blew  out  the  light,  and  softly 
mounted  the  steps  leading  to  his  little  garret 
room.  As  he  crept  under  the  patchwork  quilt  on 
his  bed,  he  softly  soliloquized,  "He's  the  cutiest 
little  codger  I  ever  seen,  an'  he  ain't  brash  'bout 
it,  nuther." 


CHAPTER   III 

ZORAH    DABNEY 

Early  on  the  next  morning  unusual  noises 
reverberated  throughout  the  Franklin  residence. 
It  was  evident  that  something  of  an  athletic 
character  was  going  on  in  Gilbert's  room.  At 
seven  the  little  fellow  appeared  at  breakfast,  with 
glowing  color  in  his  face  and  appetite  keen  and 
hearty. 

"I  have  been  trying  handsprings  for  more  than 
an  hour,"  he  exclaimed,  proudly  exhibiting  a  va- 
riety of  bumps  and  bruises  as  mute  witnesses  of 
his  efforts. 

"Get  the  arnica,  Delia,"  called  the  grand- 
mother apprehensively. 

"Please,  grandma,  don't  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
a  baby,"  pleaded  Gilbert. 

"But,  dear,  it  will  soothe  the  aching  and  the 
misery,"  said  she  sympathetically. 

"Please  don't  bother,"  persisted  the  lad,  "these 
bumps  don't  amount  to  much,  anyway;  besides, 
Sandy  says  when  you  have  sand  in  your  craw  and 

39 


40  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

can  stand  the  gaff  you  don't  need  any  pain-killer, 
and  before  you  know  it  you  are  as  hard  as  nails. 
So  please  let  me  have  my  way." 

"Certainly,  dear,  if  you  insist,  but  promise  me 
not  to  be  too  reckless  in  your  play." 

"Of  course,  I'll  promise  that,  grandma.  Sandy 
doesn't  believe  in  being  reckless.  He  told  me  so 
himself.  He  says  everybody  knows  that  any  boy 
who  wouldn't  take  a  dare  isn't  worth  powder  and 
shot  to  blow  him  to  Kingdom-come,  but  he  doesn't 
think  a  boy  should  be  reckless." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  a  distinction  without  a  dif- 
ference," observed  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"I  am  going  to  help  Delia  put  up  my  lunch," 
said  the  little  fellow,  going  into  the  kitchen, 
where  he  found  the  colored  woman  carefully  se- 
lecting an  apple  from  a  barrel. 

"Ain't  dat  a  beauty?"  said  the  cook,  holding  in 
view  a  Newtown  pippin. 

"Yes,  indeed,  but  you  had  better  put  four  like 
it  in  my  basket,  Delia,"  suggested  Gilbert. 

"Lor'  honey,  yo'  couldn't  eat  mor'n  one  of  dem 
yer  in  a  day,  if  yo'  tried." 

"I  know  it,  Delia,  but  Sandy  just  loves  pippins 
and  russets  all  the  time,  and  says  he  does  not  be- 
lieve he  could  ever  get  enough  of  them." 


ZORAH  DABNEY  4! 

"All  right,  honey,  but  if  yo're  goin'  in  fer  to 
feed  all  creation,  yo'll  eat  yo'  daddy  out  o'  house 
an'  home,  an'  sen'  us  all  to  the  porehouse."  Then 
to  show  that  she  took  no  stock  in  her  words,  the 
good-natured  Delia  put  four  of  the  largest  apples 
in  the  basket. 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  sliced  enough  bread 
and  tongue,"  continued  Gilbert,  scrutinizing  the 
pile  of  appetizing  sandwiches  she  was  preparing. 

"Bress  ma  soul,  dere's  enuff  yere  for  a  small- 
sized  reg'ment," — and  she  held  up  a  heaped  tray. 

"Yes,  perhaps  generally,"  said  the  little  fellow 
slowly,  "but  Sandy  and  Dink  just  dote  on  sand- 
wiches. Dink  told  me  yesterday,  he  wouldn't  care 
if  he  were  cast  away  on  a  desert  island  for  the  rest 
of  his  life,  if  he  were  supplied  with  tongue  sand- 
wiches. He  says,  when  they  are  cut  thin,  with 
butter  on  both  pieces  of  bread,  they  beat  canvas- 
back  duck  all  to  pieces.  So  please  have  plenty  of 
them!" 

"  'Deed  chile,  ef  yo'  wants  to  have  mo',  I'll 
have  to  give  yo'  de  market  basket  to  put  'em  in, 
an'  mebbe  Matt  better  bring  de  horse  an'  wagon 
roun'  for  to  tote  yo'  pervisions  to  school," — and 
Delia  sat  down,  shaking  with  laughter  at  the  idea. 

After  closing  the  lunch  basket,  the  cook  looked 


42  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

at  the  clock,  and  finding  that  the  boy  need  not 
leave  for  some  moments,  she  sat  down  by  the  fire. 
Beckoning  Gilbert  toward  her,  she  almost  whis- 
pered, "Honey,  I  wants  to  ax  yo'  sumthin'  that's 
bin  on  ma  tongue  ever  so  many  times." 

"Go  ahead,  Delia,  I  am  all  ears," — and  Gil- 
bert seated  himself,  waiting  for  her  question. 
She  began  slowly  and  impressively. 

"Las'  night,  me  an'  ma  brudder  Matt  went 
roun'  to  de  Odd  Fellows  Hall  to  see  a  panoramy 
what  wuz  called  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 
We  had  awful  good  seats  up  in  Buzzard's  Roost, 
an'  enj'y'd  ev'ry  minit  we  wuz  dere.  Dere  wuz 
a  man  what  told  us  all  about  de  picters  an'  what 
dey  meant.  Dere  wuz  picters  of  angels,  an'  an- 
gels, an'  angels,  a-movin'  along.  Dere  wuz  pink- 
faced  angels  wid  long  flowin'  white  robes,  an' 
den  would  come  white-faced  angels  wid  long 
flowin'  pink  robes,  an'  dey  kept  on  comin',  an'  I 
watched,  an'  watched,  an'  watched,  but  nary  a 
black  angel  came,  wid  no  kinds  of  robes  on  'tall. 
An'  it  set  me  thinkin'  powerful  hard.  I  sez  to 
Matt,  who  wuz  tryin'  to  git  through  his  wool 
what  de  panoramy  wuz  all  'bout,  an'  not  makin' 
much  headway,  I  sez,  'Matt,  do  yo'  'member 
ever  havin'  seen  a  black  angel?'  An'  he  sed, 


ZORAH  DABNEY  43 

laughin',  looney-like,  'Go  'long,  Delia,  an'  stop  yer 
foolishness/ 

"An'  I  didn't  say  nuthin'  to  him  no  mo',  but 
when  de  entertertainment  wuz  over,  I  waited  fo' 
de  minister,  who  wuz  dere  wid  all  his  folks,  an'  I 
tips  and  sez,  'Axin'  yer  pardon,  Mister  Cunning- 
ham, but  is  der  sich  a  thing  as  a  black  angel  ?' 

"He  coughed  mighty  hollow-like,  three  or  fo' 
times,  an'  hurryin'  past,  said,  'Delia,  yo'  jest  run 
'long  an'  don't  ax  no  silly  questions.'  I  stood  dere 
five  minutes,  tryin'  to  make  out  why  ma  question 
wuz  foolish,  an'  I  didn't  come  to  no  concludin' 
p'int,  which  wuz  mighty  unsatisfyin'  to  me,  cos 
I  wuz  jest  whar  I  started  from. 

"I  walked  home  a-thinkin'  an'  a-thinkin',  an' 
I  sez  to  myse'f,  ef  dere  ain't  no  black  angels, 
what's  de  use  of  ma  puttin'  quarters  in  de  contri- 
bution-box ev'ry  Sunday.  Ef  I'se  payin'  in  ad- 
vance for  lodgin's  in  de  manshuns  of  de  blest,  I 
wants  ter  know  if  dey  is  gwine  to  gimme  a  room 
when  I  dies,  or  jest  let  me  set  out  on  de  curb- 
stone, 'cause  I'm  black,  an'  I  jest  got  wool-gath- 
ered a-thinkin'.  Honey,  what  I  wants  to  ax  yo', 
is  yo'  'pinion,  fo'  I  knows  yo'  knows  lots  an' 
lots  more'n  most  folks  I  could  name.  I  wants  to 
know  if  in  yo'  'pinion,  hones'  an'  trufful,  does 


44  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

cullud  people  go  to  Heaven  anyhow  when  dey 
dies?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Delia.  Why  shouldn't  they  ? 
I'm  sure  your  soul  is  just  as  white  as  any  one's. 
The  only  difference  between  white  people  and 
yourself  is  the  pigment  in  your  skin." 

"De  pigment  in  ma  skin,  honey?" 

"Yes,  father  told  me  all  about  it.  It's  very 
queer.  If  you  hadn't  a  pigment  peculiar  to  your 
race,  you  would  perhaps  be  as  white  as  anybody." 

"Is  dat  de  trouble  wid  me?"  she  queried,  her 
face  shining  with  perspiration. 

"I  can't  recall  any  other  reason.  But,  Delia," 
he  continued  ingenuously,  "just  think  what  it 
would  mean  to  us.  If  you  hadn't  any  pigment  in 
your  skin,  the  chances  are  you  wouldn't  cook  for 
us,  and  then  what  would  we  do?" 

"Come  yere,  yo'  honey  boy,"  she  cried  impul- 
sively, pulling  the  little  fellow  toward  her  and 
pressing  him  tightly  to  her  ample  bosom.  "Yo' 
listen  to  me.  If  I  hadn't  no  pigment  'bout  me, 
an'  I  wuz  white  as  alabaster,  I  would  cook  fer  yo' 
until  I  drapped  in  ma  tracks." 

It  was  now  time  for  Gilbert  to  go  to  school, 
and,  picking  up  his  lunch  basket  and  books,  he 
was  off  with  a  good-by. 


ZORAH  DABNEY  45 

Delia  sat  musing  until  her  train  of  thought  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Matt,  who  had 
come  over  for  something  to  eat.  He  was  Mr. 
Franklin's  man-of-all-work.  When  he  was  com- 
fortably seated  at  the  table,  his  sister  spoke: 

"Matthew,  dat  honey  boy  o'  mine  has  made  me 
feel  pow'ful  better  sence  I  seen  yo'  las'  night." 

"How's  dat?"  exclaimed  the  hungry  brother, 
taking  the  second  helping  of  sausage  and  potatoes. 

"He  done  tol'  me  all  about  cullud  pussons,  an' 
why  you  don't  see  no  black  angels." 

"An'  what  does  he  calkerlate  am  de  reasin?" 
asked  Matthew  slowly,  between  swallows  of  cof- 
fee, with  his  elbows  resting  on  the  table,  looking 
expectantly  at  Delia. 

"It's  all  de  pigments;  our  souls  er  jes'  as  white 
as  ennybody's,  he  sez,  but  our  skins  air  turned 
black  from  de  pigments." 

"I'se  a  feelin'  yo',"  said  Matt,  "but  I  can't  see 
yo'," — and  dubiously  he  rubbed  his  lips. 

"De  little  honey  is  de  most  knowledgeable  boy 
I  ebber  seen,  an'  he  sez  it's  pigments  in  de  nigger's 
skin.  Derefo'  der  ain't  no  black  angels,  an'  I 
feels  it  in  ma  bones  dat  dat  am  correct.  For  sakes 
'live,  niggers  am  powerful  fond  of  hog-meat, 
enny  way  it  comes,  an'  dat  wuz  de  trouble  always. 


46  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

'Twan't  de  Lawd  Almighty  wot  made  de  cullud 
pussons  black,  but  it  wuz  dem  fool  niggers  when 
de  world  got  started,  a-eatin',  an'  a-gorgin',  an' 
a-stuffin'  demselves  wid  pigments  an'  cracklin's, 
an'  all  t'other  kinds  o'  hog-meat." 

"Am  dat  a  fac'  ?"  said  the  brother. 

"Dat  am  it.  Dey  should  'a'  bin  mighty  keer- 
ful  at  de  beginnin',  an'  not  'a'  let  de  pigments 
black  der  skin  fo'  ebber  an'  ebber,  after  de  Lawd 
made  Heaven  an'  earth  an'  all  dat  derein  lies. 
Amen." 

Delia  resumed  her  work  with  a  final  thrust.  "I 
nebber  did  hab  no  use  for  dem  foolish-goin'  nig- 
gers what  don't  know  nuthin'  nohow." 

"I  don't  see  why  yo're  lettin'  dat  worry  yo'," 
said  Matt  reproachfully.  "Pigments  or  no  pig- 
ments, a  nigger's  jest  as  good  as  ennybody,  as 
long  as  he's  a  nigger;  but  when  he  tries  to  play 
white  man,  he  ain't  as  good  as  a  nigger." 

Gilbert's  second  day  at  school  passed  without 
any  special  interest,  as  did  many  weeks  that  fol- 
lowed. It  was  universally  admitted,  except  for 
the  carping  remarks  of  Snarley  Foley,  that  Gilbert 
was  the  brightest  boy  in  his  class.  Miss  Latham 
said  he  was  a  wonderful  child,  and  Sandy  almost 
daily  reiterated  his  original  opinion . 


ZORAH  DABNEY  47 

"Gil  is  the  cutiest  little  codger  I  ever  seen." 

One  of  the  surprises  was  the  rapid  advance 
made  by  Sandy  in  arithmetic  and  geography.  He 
was  permanently  seated  next  to  Gilbert,  whose 
particular  care  it  was  understood  he  should  be. 

To  the  little  fellow's  sympathetic  assistance 
during  these  weeks  was  due  Sandy's  progress. 
To  the  older  boy's  kind  instructions  could  be 
credited  a  knowledge  of  handsprings  and  cart- 
wheels, on  the  part  of  Gilbert,  besides  two  fairly 
successful  attempts  to  walk  on  his  hands,  and  a 
projected  double-somersault.  Thus  Gilbert's  body 
and  Sandy's  brain  were  running  a  race,  and  it 
was  neck  and  neck. 

With  the  improvement  in  the  younger  lad's 
physical  condition,  came  a  love  of  mischief  and 
a  desire  to  play  good-natured  pranks.  As  Sandy 
was  a  past  master  in  the  art  of  perpetrating  jokes 
he  found  in  Gilbert  a  ready  accomplice. 

Among  Miss  Latham's  scholars,  next  to  ring- 
ing the  bell  and  keeping  the  fire  up,  the  bringing 
of  drinking-water  was  the  most  important  duty, 
and,  as  Sandy  was  the  strongest  boy,  he  had  thus 
far  always  been  deputized  for  that  most  enjoyable 
task.  He  had  the  privilege  of  selecting  a  helper, 
and,  naturally,  Gilbert  was  his  choice. 


48  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

At  least  five  times  each  day  the  buckets  were 
refilled.  It  was  Friday,  and  that  was  fish-day  in 
Pipetown.  Everybody  was  especially  thirsty. 

A  hand  was  raised.  "Please,  teacher,"  piped 
the  shrill  voice  of  a  dry-lipped  boy. 

"What  is  it,  Edward?"  This  from  Miss  La- 
tham, to  the  boy  standing  near  the  buckets. 

"'Tain't  no  water  in  the  pails." 

"Sandy,  bring  some." 

"Yes,  Miss  Maisie,"  responded  Sandy,  at  the 
same  time  jerking  his  thumb  over  his  left  shoulder 
toward  Gilbert,  meaning  thereby,  as  plainly  as 
words  could  say:  "Come  on,  little  feller."  The 
younger  boy,  taking  his  cap  from  the  rack,  picked 
up  one  of  the  buckets  and  followed. 

Once  outside,  the  pair  went  by  a  round-about 
path  through  the  back  yard,  over  the  fence,  and 
into  an  alley  in  the  direction  of  the  pump,  a  block 
away.  Suddenly  Sandy  stopped  and  peered 
through  a  hole  in  the  fence,  examining  closely  an 
object  lying  just  on  the  other  side. 

"If  that  ain't  a  pot  er  black  paint,  I'm  a  liar," 
he  called  out. 

"That's  what  it  is,"  responded  Gilbert,  also 
looking  closely. 

"Findin's  keepin's;  so  jest  take  it  along,  Gil," 


ZORAH  DABNEY  49 

said  Sandy,  handing  it  to  the  little  fellow,  and 
putting  the  paint-brush  in  his  pocket.  "I  spec' 
some  painter  left  it  here  fer  us  to  find,  an'  ain't 
never  comin'  back  no  more  to  see  if  we've  got  it. 
Findin's  keepin's.  Come  along." 

At  the  pump  Sandy  filled  the  two  buckets,  and 
then  hid  them  in  a  doorway  near  by. 

"Now,  Gil,"  said  the  older  boy,  taking  the  pot 
of  paint  from  his  companion,  "jest  run  across 
the  street  an'  git  behind  the  fence  till  I  come  over. 
I've  got  er  n'idea.  Yer  can  see  any  proceedin' 
by  jest  a-lookin'  through  a  knot-hole." 

Gilbert  went  over  and  awaited  developments. 

Sandy  scanned  the  street  up  and  down,  and, 
finding  it  deserted,  quickly  dipped  the  brush  into 
the  paint  and  started  to  coat  the  pump-handle. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  surveyed  his  work  with 
a  critical  eye,  and  soliloquized :  "I  don't  believe  I 
could  git  no  more  on  that  'ere  handle,  if  I  tried 
fer  an  hour." 

The  handle  was,  indeed,  completely  covered. 

Again  Sandy  looked,  and  saw  a  boy  approach- 
ing. 

"If  that  ain't  Fatty  Beeks  a-comin',  I'm  a  liar. 
I  owes  him  one  fer  his  nobs,  an'  I  guess  this  is 
where  I  pays  it." 


50  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Young  Beeks  moved  lumberingly,  his  head  was 
haughtily  erect,  and  he  waddled  with  an  air  of 
stupid  importance.  He  was  fourteen,  and  very 
fat.  His  hair  was  a  mass  of  golden  ringlets,  and 
he  wore  low  shoes,  white  stockings,  knee-breeches, 
velvet  jacket,  with  lace-ruffled  shirt,  and  a  Tam- 
o'-Shanter. 

Sandy,  bowing  with  theatric  mimicry,  patted  the 
puffy  cheeks  of  the  youth,  and  said :  "What  ho, 
my  friend,  one  moment,  I  pray  thee!"  Being  an 
inveterate  Saturday  night  patron  of  the  drama, 
and  having  learned  "play  talk"  by  the  hour,  he 
now  tried  it  on  the  fat  boy. 

"Prithee,  fair  youth  with  the  golden  ring- 
lets," he  began  grandly,  "dost  thy  mother  know 
ye're  out?" 

"Yes,  indeedy,"  lisped  the  boy,  staring  blankly 
at  Sandy. 

"'Tis  well,  beautiful  one  with  the  velvet  jacket ! 
As  thou  art  a  knight  an'  a  gentleman,  I  prithee 
guard  this  precious  casket  while  I  proceed  hence, 
an'  rescue  the  beauteous  damozel  encased  in  yon- 
der basement  deep."  And  Sandy  lifted  the  pot  of 
paint  from  the  ground,  held  it  aloft  dramatically 
and  placed  it  in  the  mystified  boy's  hands.  "Guard 
it  with  thy  life,  an'  when  I  return  I  will  give  thee 


ZORAH  DABNEY  51 

gold  an'  precious  jewels,  an'  a  little  mountain 
home." 

Then  with  sh!  sh!  sh!  and  one  finger  warn- 
ingly  placed  to  his  lips,  he  glided  across  the  street. 
Going  round  the  corner,  he  jumped  the  side  fence 
and  joined  Gilbert. 

The  fat  boy,  holding  high  the  pot  of  paint,  was 
undecided  whether  to  remain  or  waddle  away. 

"Look!  look!"  whispered  Sandy  to  Gilbert, 
gluing  his  eyes  to  a  knot-hole,  "here  comes  Tom 
Foley's  mother,  an'  if  she  ain't  goin'  right  to  the 
pump,  yer  can  put  me  down  fer  a  liar." 

This  quick-tempered  but  hard-working  woman 
walked  mechanically  toward  the  pump  and  placed 
her  pail  on  the  nozzle.  She  grasped  the  pump- 
handle  firmly,  but  only  for  a  moment,  then  with  a 
scream  of  astonishment  and  anger,  looked  at  her 
paint-covered  palms  and  fingers  in  dismay. 

"What  imp  of  darkness  has  been  here  and  done 
this  ?"  she  cried,  at  the  same  time  espying  the  fat 
boy,  holding  the  paint-pot  and  giggling  at  her 
plight.  Fairly  yelling,  she  jumped  at  him,  with, 
"I'll  teach  you  to  play  tricks  on  your  betters;  take 
that;  and  that;  and  that!" — and  over  went  the 
paint,  covering  Fatty's  ringlets,  running  down 
his  back,  and  smearing  him  from  head  to  feet. 


52  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I'll  skin  yer  alive,  you  fat-head,  you  brat — 
you — you," — the  last  words  were  lost  in  a  re- 
sounding smack,  as  Fatty  slipped  and  rolled 
through  the  pool  of  paint  on  the  sidewalk. 

She  stood  over  him  for  a  minute,  in  a  sort  of 
sic  semper  tyrannis  attitude,  then  filled  her  water- 
bucket  and  hurled  its  contents  at  him.  Fatty  was 
a  sight,  and  Sandy  and  Gilbert  behind  the  fence 
danced  for  joy. 

Turning  about  frequently,  and  occasionally 
shaking  her  fist,  Mrs.  Foley  slowly  disappeared, 
while  the  two  young  culprits  came  from  their  hid- 
ing-place and  returned  to  the  spot  where  the 
paint-covered  boy  was  standing. 

"Methinks,"  said  Sandy  in  sepulchral  tones, 
"somebody's  bin  here  ere  now  sence  I've  been 
gone." 

Gilbert  laughed  uproariously,  until  Sandy, 
turning  to  him,  said  very  gravely,  in  the  manner 
of  Caesar  to  Brutus:  "Silence,  friend  of  me 
bosom.  As  I  love  thee,  I  beg  thee  behold  this  gal- 
lant knight."  Fatty  was  crying. 

"Ah,  ha!  I  see  it  all,"  said  Sandy  with  sudden 
force,  jumping  up  and  cracking  his  heels  together, 
— "yer  wuz  attack'd  by  robbers,  pirates,  an'  sich 
like,  an'  they  done  yer  up,  fer  sure,"  The  victim 


ZORAH  DABNEY  53 

was  still  sniffling,  and  trying  to  squeeze  the  paint 
from  his  yellow  hair. 

Sandy  struck  another  tragic  attitude.  "Go,  an' 
go  in  peace.  Dry  thy  tears.  Away  to  thy  lovin' 
ma,  an'  tell  her  to  soak  her  little  darlin'  in  tur- 
pentine. The  next  time  I  meet  thee  on  the  Rialto, 
a  large  red  apple  shall  be  thine.  Git !"  And  the 
fat  boy  waddled  homeward. 

"I  wouldn't  'a'  played  th'  trick  on  him  if  he  wuz 
white,"  said  Sandy.  "That  fat-head's  got  the 
yallerest  kind  er  streak  I  ever  seen  in  any  boy." 

"How's  that,  Sandy?"  asked  the  little  fellow. 

"I  seen  him  yesterday  throw  a  brick  at  a  little 
dog  an'  break  his  leg.  When  I  hollered  at  him  he 
kicked  the  dog  as  hard  as  he  could  an'  run  away 
inter  the  house.  An'  that's  why  I'm  glad  we 
played  it  on  him." 

Thereupon,  with  a  consciousness  of  duty  well 
done,  the  boys  returned  to  the  thirsty  pupils 
awaiting  them. 

As  Gilbert  was  going  home,  he  passed  Miss 
Gransey's  school  for  girls.  His  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  sobs  of  a  child  seated  on  a  bench  in 
the  play-yard.  Fearing  some  accident  had  oc- 
curred, he  hurried  to  her  and  said,  all  sympathy 
and  gentleness: 


54  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"What's  the  matter ;  can  I  help  you  ?" 

She  looked  up,  and  then  sobbed  afresh. 

"Now,  come,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter," — 
and  Gilbert  spoke  coaxingly. 

"Miss  Gransey  sent  me  home,"  said  the  child, 
amid  a  fresh  outburst. 

"Never  mind," — and  Gilbert  stroked  her  head. 

"Teacher  sent  me  home,  and  told  me  to  tell  my 
mother  to  scrub  my  hands,  and,  and," — after  a 
great  sob, — "she  said  I  was  ugly  as  sin," — and 
another  flood  of  tears  came. 

"That  doesn't  make  it  so,"  said  Gilbert,  trying 
to  soothe  her. 

"It's  no  use  for  mother  to  scrub  my  hands.  I 
scrub  an'  scrub  an'  scrub  'em  ev'ry  day,  lots  of 
times,  but  I  can't  make  'em  white,  an'  I  want  to 
die." 

"No,  you  don't," — and  the  young  lad  bent  over 
her.  Tenderly,  he  took  the  little  one's  hand  in  his 
own,  and  imprinted  a  hearty  kiss  on  it. 

"My  hands  wouldn't  be  black  if  I  hadn't  been 
runnin'  wild  all  the  year  on  Aunt  Harriet's  farm," 
said  the  maid  with  conviction. 

"Now  dry  your  eyes,"  he  said  reassuringly, 
still  holding  her  hand  and  looking  at  it  admir- 
ingly. 


ZORAH  DABNEY  55 

"I  had  to  go  down  to  the  farm  and  run  wild, 
'cause  the  doctor  told  my  folks  to  send  me,  and 
I'm  awful  sunburnt." 

"That's  it,  the  sun  has  made  your  hands  olive- 
tinted." 

"Olive-tinted!  what's  that?"  said  the  little  girl, 
forgetting  her  troubles  temporarily,  and  opening 
her  eyes  with  sudden  interest. 

"Olive-tinted,"  echoed  the  youthful  cavalier, 
"olive-tinted  is  the  color  that  all  gipsy  queens 
have;  in  fact  I  do  not  believe  any  one  could  be  a 
gipsy  queen  unless  she  had  olive-tinted  hands, 
and  olive-tinted  face,  and  olive-tinted  neck,  and 
olive-tinted  shoulders." 

"Do  gipsy  queens  run  wild  by  the  doctor's  or- 
der?" asked  the  girl,  deeply  interested. 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it.  They  are  in  the  open 
air  all  the  time,  and  of  course  run  wild." 

"I  ran  wild  so  long  that  sister  Crissie  says  my 
shoulders  are  as  black  as  a  nigger's ;  but  they  ain't, 
are  they  ?" 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  Gilbert  reassuringly; 
"they  are  only  olive-tinted." 

"When  I  came  back  from  the  country,  sister 
Crissie  said,  if  I  was  picked  up  dead,  she  wouldn't 
have  known  me,  I  was  so  black." 


56  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"But  you  are  not;  you  are  simply  olive-tinted," 
protested  Gilbert. 

"What  else  do  gipsy  queens  have,  like  me?" 
questioned  the  little  girl  intently. 

"Well,  they  have  hair  as  black  as  a  raven's 
wing." 

"Yes,  yes;  and  what  else?" 

"And  eyes  that  would  put  to  shame  the  twink- 
ling stars,"  said  Gilbert,  quoting  readily. 

"How  nice!    And  what  else?" 

"And  teeth  like  pearls."  The  child's  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles,  and  she  was  struck  with  won- 
der and  admiration. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Zorah  Dabney." 

"Are  you  Dink  Dabney's  sister?" 

"Yes,  that's  who  I  am.  Dink's  my  brother," 
said  the  now  talkative  Zorah. 

"I  know  him,"  said  the  boy,  "he  goes  to  the 
same  school  with  me.  Dink's  all  right.  Sandy 
says  Dink's  all  right,  and  Sandy  knows." 

"Who  is  Sandy?"  asked  the  little  girl. 

"Oh,  hasn't  Dink  told  you  about  Sandy?  I 
thought  everybody  would  tell  everybody  else 
about  Sandy,  if  they  knew  him." 

"No,  you  see  I've  been  running  wild  and  just 


ZORAH  DABNEY  57 

got  home  a  week  ago,  and  haven't  seen  much  of 
Dink." 

"And  Dink  hasn't  said  anything  about 
Sandy?"  asked  Gilbert  with  a  shade  of  surprise. 

"Nope,  he  never  told  me  anything  about 
Sandy." 

"Well,  Sandy  is  just  Sandy,  and  that's  a  heap. 
He  can  turn  cartwheels  so  fast  it  will  make  you 
dizzy  watching  him.  Oh,  say,  there's  nothing 
Sandy  can't  do,  and  you  wouldn't  know  anything 
about  it,  if  you  waited  for  him  to  tell  you.  You 
must  meet  Sandy,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  like  him. 
Tell  Dink  to  have  him  come  and  see  you." 

"Yes,  I  will.  Dink's  got  to  shovel  our  coal  to- 
morrow, and  I'll  tell  him  to  have  Sandy  come 
and  help  him,  and  then  I'll  see  him." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Gilbert,  as  he  hur- 
ried away  to  meet  Sandy  down  at  Jebb's  corner. 


CHAPTER   IV 
"PICKIN'  AIGS" 

The  children  of  Pipetown  took  second  place  to 
none  in  their  interest  and  devotion  to  the  various 
annual  holidays.  Christmas  brought  its  visions 
of  gifts,  mince  pies  and  gaily-trimmed  trees; 
Washington's  Birthday,  or  in  the  small  boy's 
verbal  perversion,  "Birthington's  Washday," 
came  with  its  attendance  at  church,  its  reading 
of  the  first  president's  Farewell,  its  pleasures  of 
skating,  sledding,  football  play,  or  "shinny  on 
your  own  side;"  Fourth  of  July,  carrying  with  it 
the  cannon  and  fire-cracker,  pistol  and  torpedo, 
was  made  notable  by  the  reading  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence,  and  brought  to  a  glorious 
ending  by  a  fine  fireworks  display;  New  Year's 
was,  in  reality,  but  a  winding  up  of  the  Christmas 
festivities,  while  Thanksgiving  meant  plenty  of 
turkey,  nuts  and  candy.  But  the  most  pleasurable 
time,  perhaps,  for  the  Pipetown  boys,  was  the 
Easter  holiday,  because  it  was  so  long  drawn  out. 

For  two  weeks  before,  and  during  the  Easter 
58 


"PICKIN'  AIGS"  59 

week,  the  boys  of  the  town  were  deep  in  the  game 
of  egg-picking,  and  "Got  er  naig  to  pick?"  was 
the  familiar  greeting  from  morning  until  night. 

Then,  too,  this  was  the  time  for  the  annual  con- 
cert, at  which  was  usually  given  a  cantata  on  a 
biblical  subject. 

The  girls  of  Miss  Gransey's  school,  together 
with  the  boys  of  Miss  Latham's,  were  assiduously 
rehearsing  the  cantata  Rachel  in  Odd  Fellows 
Hall  under  the  direction  of  Professor  Faniels. 

"It's  mighty  funny,"  volunteered  Sandy  to  Gil- 
bert during  one  of  the  rehearsals,  as  he  pocketed 
an  egg  just  won  from  a  boy  standing  next  to  him 
in  the  chorus,  "it's  mighty  funny  'bout  music 
pieces,  'specially  if  they  ain't  got  no  nigger  in 
'em." 

"Don't  follow  your  drift,"  said  Gilbert. 

"It's  this  'ere  way.  I  means,  if  a  music  piece's 
got  nigger  in  it,  it  jest  keeps  yer  foot  goin'  all  the 
time  an'  the  chune  comes  to  yer  jest  nacheral  like. 
It's  powerful  likely  yer'll  be  whistlin'  it  by  the 
mornin',  but  this  'ere  kind  of  music  pieces  we've 
been  practisin',  'tain't  no  foot  that'll  go  with  'em. 
I've  tried  over  an'  over  to  keep  time,  but  both  my 
hoofs  jest  stay  planted.  The  gals  they  screech, 
an'  screech,  an'  screech,  an'  when  they  stops  the 


60  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

boys  beller,  then  we  mixes  up  the  screechin'  an' 
the  bellerin'  till  it  sounds  like  the  devil  afore  day." 

"But  we  must  wait  until  the  professor  has  re- 
hearsed enough,  and  then  it  will  be  all  right," 
suggested  Gilbert. 

"I  want  yer  to  understan'  one  thing,  little  cod- 
ger, 'tain't  only  pieces  with  nigger  in  'em  I  like. 
Them  soft  dreamy  kind  er  chunes,  that  grow 
sweeter  an'  sweeter  all  the  time,  then  sort  er  die 
away,  have  er  powerful  influence  on  me,  'specially 
when  I'm  all  run  down,  an'  feel  like  a  b'iled  owl." 

"Oh,  if  you  were  educated  in  music,  Sandy, 
there's  lots  and  lots  of  it  you  would  love,  that  you 
can't  understand  now." 

"I  spec'  that's  right,  little  codger.  Howsom- 
ever,  I  ain't  got  no  use  now  for  any  chunes  'cept 
they  have  nigger  in  'em,  or  are  soft  and  sleepy, 
like  the  woods  in  summer-time.  Mebbe  I  would, 
if  I  wuz  eddicated  like  you  are,  but  I  don't  know." 

"I  know  you  would,"  spoke  Gilbert  positively. 
"Pieces  by  Bethoven,  Mozart  and  Haydn  would 
be  just  as  pleasant  to  you  as  nigger  tunes,  if  you 
heard  them  as  often." 

"I  guess  you're  right,  'specially  if  they're  as 
pretty  as  you  sez  they  be." 

Rehearsal  being  over,  the  boys  hurried  to  the 


"PICKIN'  AIGS"  6 1 

street,  eager  to  challenge  one  another,  and  try  con- 
clusions with  their  "busters,"  otherwise  known  as 
eggs  carefully  selected  from  a  large  number,  for 
points  and  butts  of  exceptional  thickness  and 
strength. 

Possession  of  the  fleetest  race-horse  by  a  mil- 
lionaire sportsman,  or  of  the  gamiest  fighting 
cock  by  a  chicken  fancier,  could  not  have  been 
matter  of  keener  pride  to  the  boys  of  Pipetown 
than  the  ownership  of  a  champion  "buster." 

The  first  boy  Sandy  met  was  Curley  Harris, 
and  "Got  er  naig?"  came  simultaneously. 

"You  bet!" 

"Want  er  pick?" 

"Mebbe ;  let's  see  yer  aig." 

The  eggs  were  produced  from  mysterious  pock- 
ets and  reluctantly  shown  at  a  safe  distance. 

"That  looks  like  a  ginny  keet,"  said  Sandy. 

"'Tain't  no  ginny  keet  an'  yer  knows  it,  that  is 
if  yer  knows  anythin'  'bout  aigs,"  snapped  Cur- 
ley  sarcastically. 

"Lemme  try  yer  aig." 

"Lemme  try  your'n." 

The  eggs  were  exchanged,  then  facing  each 
other  the  boys  made  a  test  of  them  by  tapping 
them,  points  and  butts,  against  their  front  teeth. 


62  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

As  Sandy  returned  Curley's  egg  to  its  owner 
and  received  his  in  exchange,  he  asked,  "What 
'vantage  d'yer  give?" 

"I  don't  give  no  'vantage;  points  up,  butts  up 
an'  nuthin'  more." 

"Go'  long,  yer've  the  best  aig,  gimme  a  show 
fer  my  white  alley." 

"Well,  I'll  give  yer  jest  this  much  an'  no  more," 
— and  Curley  placed  the  egg  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  then  gently  closed  his  ringers  over  it,  dis- 
playing a  very  small  portion  of  the  point. 

"I  won't  pick  with  no  feller  like  you.  Show  me 
some  fowl,  an'  I'll  pick  yer." 

"All  right,  I'll  give  yer  this  much  fowl  an'  no 
more," — Curley  exposed  the  egg  about  half  an 
inch  from  its  point,  and  Sandy,  taking  his  between 
thumb  and  ringer,  rolled  the  point  around  that  of 
his  opponent  and  suddenly  struck.  Curley's  egg, 
being  the  softer,  was  cracked.  Then  ends  were 
reversed,  the  process  was  repeated  and  Curley  lost 
again.  Sandy  pocketed  the  cracked  egg,  and 
walked  off  triumphantly. 

"No  use  talkin',  Gil,  but  this  has  been  a  mighty 
good  day  fer  aigs." 

"How  many  do  you  think  you've  won?"  asked 
Gilbert. 


"PICKIN'  AIGS"  63 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  guess  I'll  stop  to  count, 
an'  yer  can  help  me  carry  'em."  Then  Sandy 
fished  from  his  pocket  seven  eggs,  one  of  them  a 
duck's. 

"Where  did  you  win  this  one?"  asked  Gilbert, 
holding  up  the  duck  egg. 

"I  jest  picked  this  little  bantam  ag'in  it,  an' 
she  cracked  it,  but  it  was  a  mighty  dangerous 
thing  to  do.  'Tain't  one  hen  aig  in  a  milyun  that 
can  crack  a  duck,  but  this  little  dandy  done  it," — 
and  he  held  up  a  small  brown  egg  to  Gilbert's  ad- 
miring gaze. 

"Wouldn't  it  have  been  awful  if  you  had  lost 
that  little  bantam,"  said  the  younger  boy  sympa- 
thetically. 

No  self-respecting  boy  in  Pipetown  would  be 
seen  with  a  duck  egg  in  his  possession  during 
picking  time,  so  Sandy  felt  quite  guilty  that  he 
had  not  thrown  away  the  egg  after  winning  it. 

"I  guess  I'll  chuck  it  pver  in  the  lot,  afore  any 
one  sees  it,"  he  said. 

"No,  don't  do  that;  let's  wrap  it  up  carefully 
and  lay  it  on  the  pavement  for  some  one  to  kick," 
suggested  the  little  fellow  slyly. 

"I  don't  advise  that,"  said  Sandy.  "Some  lady 
might  kick  it,  an'  ladies  never  did  see  no  joke  like 


64  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

that.  Then  he  added,  "I've  got  it!"  and  he 
pointed  down  the  street.  Gilbert  looked  in  the 
direction  and  saw  Fatty  Beeks  waddling  up. 
Sandy  went  gleefully  through  a  hurried  pan- 
tomime. 

"D'yertwig?" 

"Cert,"  said  the  little  fellow. 

Young  Beeks  was  abreast  of  them. 

"Got  an  egg?"  called  Gilbert,  holding  up  the 
duck  egg. 

"Nope,"  said  Fatty,  "mama  won't  let  me  pick 
eggs.  She  says  it's  wicked  and  leads  to  gambling 
when  you  are  a  man." 

"Mama  is  right,"  said  Gilbert,  in  an  attitude 
of  Chesterfieldian  grace.  Then,  taking  the  fat  boy 
aside,  he  whispered :  "I've  just  made  a  bet  with 
that  big  boy  there,  that  I  can  hide  this  egg  on  you 
and  he  can't  find  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  play  with  you,"  young  Beeks 
exclaimed,  as  an  unhappy  recollection  of  paint  and 
pump  came  to  his  mind. 

"This  isn't  play,"  said  Gilbert  commandingly, 
"this  is  betting,  and  if  I  win,  I'm  going  to  give 
you  the  egg;  but  don't  breathe  a  word." 

"All  right,  I'll  do  it  if  I  get  the  egg,"  said  the 
other  boy  under  his  breath. 


"PICKIN'  AIGS"  65 

"You'll  get  it,  don't  fear,"  —  and  Gilbert  winked 
slyly.    "Turn  your  head,  Sandy,  while  I  hide  the 


"Now  tote  fair,  Gil,  don't  put  it  where  nobody 
couldn't  find  it." 

Gilbert  winked  again,  and  then  slowly  lifting 
Fatty's  Tam-o'-Shanter,  placed  the  egg  on  the 
boy's  head  and  carefully  covered  it  with  the  cap. 

Fatty  by  this  time  was  deeply  interested,  and 
when  Gilbert  said,  "Don't  give  anything  away, 
and  we'll  fool  him,"  Beeks  blinked  like  an  owl  in 
the  sunlight. 

"All  right,  Sandy,  we're  ready,"  shouted  Gil- 
bert. 

Sandy  turned  slowly  and  came  toward  the  fat 
boy  with  an  air  of  absorbed  interest. 

"I  knows  ye're  awful  cute,  Gil,  but  I'm  goin'  to 
try  an'  find  that  'ere  aig  if  I  bust  a  button." 

The  search  began,  and  Sandy  felt  around 
Fatty's  shoes  and  stockings,  up  and  down  his  legs, 
into  his  trousers  and  coat  pockets,  into  the  bosom 
of  his  blouse,  about  his  ears  and  then  slowly  re- 
turned down  to  his  ankles. 

"It's  mighty  funny  where  you  could  'a'  put  it," 
and  Sandy  stooped,  gently  pressing  the  boy's  toes 
as  if  the  egg  might  be  hidden  near  them. 


66  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"If  I  don't  find  it  soon  I'll  have  to  give  it  up. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  here  for  ever,  jest  fer  one 
aig,"  said  Sandy,  with  an  assumption  of  disgust. 

Fatty  was  holding  in  his  breath  and  blinking 
furiously. 

"I  never  knowed  er  naig  ter  hide  like  that  afore ; 
it  beats  all  holler  where  yer  could  a  put  it,  Gil." 

The  fat  boy  dug  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his 
hands  and  set  his  teeth  together  firmly.  Sud- 
denly Sandy  rose  to  his  full  height,  stumbled 
awkwardly  and  let  his  hand  fall  heavily  on  the 
head  of  the  unsuspecting  victim.  Fatty  lifted  his 
cap  and  felt  the  smashed  egg  slowly  oozing  down 
his  face  and  neck. 

"If  I  hadn't  'a'  stumbled,  I'd  'a'  found  that 
aig,"  said  Sandy  with  an  injured  air.  "Don't 
holler  like  ye're  dead ;  'tain't  nuthin'  but  er  naig." 

"Don't  cry,"  whispered  Gilbert.  "It's  tough, 
but  just  think  of  the  poor  egg." 

"That's  it,"  added  Sandy,  "stop  yer  yellin',  go 
home  to  ma  like  a  darlin'  little  boy,  an'  tell  her 
to  turn  on  the  garden  hose;  yer  need  it."  Then 
Sandy  and  Gilbert  sauntered  off. 

"That  was  two  for  his  nobs,  an'  he  won't  break 
no  little  dog's  leg  ag'in,  I'm  a-thinkin',"  said  the 
older  boy  as  they  parted. 


SANDY    LET    HIS    HAND    FALL    HEAVILY    ON    THE    HEAD    OF    THE 

UNSUSPECTING    VICTIM  Pa re  66 


CHAPTER   V 

MAN   J£BB 


"The  Corner"  was  the  best  known  and  most 
popular  place  in  Pipetown. 

It  was  a  store  fashioned  after  its  kind,  supplied 
with  a  limited  assortment  of  groceries,  dry  goods, 
hardware,  guns  and  pistols,  and  the  thousand  and 
one  things  known  under  the  head  of  general  mer- 
chandise. 

Titcomb  Jebb  was  the  proprietor. 

The  credit  system  was  very  popular.  It  was 
often  remarked  that  if  a  list  of  all  the  books  in 
Pipetown  were  taken,  a  certain  little  leather- 
backed  kind,  having  on  its  cover  the  title,  "In 
account  with  Titcomb  Jebb,  General  Merchan- 
dise," would  outnumber  any  other,  not  even  bar- 
ring the  Good  Book.  What  was  the  reason  for 
this  large  custom  ? 

The  grocer  made  it  a  rule  never  to  turn  away 
those  who  were  dilatory  in  settling,  and  never  even 
to  throw  out  a  hint  to  the  unfortunates  who  could 

not  pay.    Among  these  two  classes  he  enjoyed  a 
67 


68  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

large,  if  not  remunerative  trade,  and  he  naturally 
had  their  good  will  besides. 

The  "good  pay"  customers  spoke  well  of  his 
fairness — a  rare  concession,  indeed,  for  that  most 
imperious  class.  It  was  known  that  the  inspector 
of  weights  and  measures  came  weekly  at  Jebb's 
request  and  tested  the  scales.  Those  of  the  neigh- 
borhood who  desired  to  be  present  during  the 
ceremony  were  cordially  invited.  Besides,  added 
to  every  proof  of  Jebb's  scrupulous  honesty 
toward  his  patrons  at  The  Corner,  seventeen 
ounces  constituted  a  pound,  and  a  "baker's  dozen" 
and  one  over  stood  for  twelve. 

Of  course  "cash  down"  patrons  were  especially 
favored.  Cash  down  meant  any  time  within  three 
months,  and  gave  the  purchaser  an  advantage 
over  the  "six-monthers"  and  the  "never  settles." 

To  the  "cash-downer"  came  a  reduction  of  ten 
per  cent.,  also  three  guesses  at  the  jar  of  beans; 
yet  with  these  tremendous  advantages,  the  "cash- 
downers"  never  arose  to  any  dignity  of  numbers, 
and  their  names  might  have  been  written  upon  a 
tiny  scroll  of  fame. 

Among  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood 
the  grocer  enjoyed  the  most  enviable  reputation. 
Three  or  four  barrels  containing  crackers,  dried 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  69 

apples,  cream  nuts  and  pickles,  temptingly  placed 
around  the  store,  and  especially  behind  the  various 
posts,  added  to  his  popularity  with  the  youngsters. 

Jebb's  good  nature  and  sympathetic  disposition 
never  deserted  him,  although  he  believed  he  had 
been  miscast  in  the  drama  of  life.  He  fondly 
cherished  the  delusion  that  he  was  a  poet,  and 
scarcely  a  day  passed  on  which  he  did  not  add 
some  new  verses  to  his  stock  of  rhymes. 

Though  Jebb  had  written  much,  for  a  long  time 
he  kept  the  knowledge  of  his  poetic  ambition  and 
efforts  secret  from  his  neighbors  and  customers. 
But  this  could  not  last  for  ever.  One  day  a 
verse  appeared,  painted  in  large  letters  on  a  card 
stuck  in  a  new  barrel  of  sugar.  To  his  patrons 
it  was  a  new  way  to  advertise,  combining  poetry 
with  groceries.  It  ran  thus: 

Granulated  sugar  in  the  morning, 

Granulated  sugar  for  your  tea; 
If  you  want  to  be  a  winner 
You  must  have  it  for  your  dinner 
And  feed  it  to  your  fam-i-lee. 

These  lines  were  speedily  memorized  by  the 
children  of  the  customers  and  soon  became  public 
property. 

One    local    critic,    waxing    enthusiastic,    pro- 


70  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

nounced  them  "bully  good  and  rhymin'  'cordin'  to 
rule,  which  is  a  lot  to  say  'bout  po'try  nowadays." 

Jebb,  after  much  quizzing,  acknowledged  au- 
thorship, and  the  ice  was  broken.  Everything  he 
now  wrote  must  needs  be  read  to  those  among 
his  acquaintance  who  would  listen.  Tablet  and 
pencil  in  hand,  he  could  be  seen,  when  not  profes- 
sionally engaged  in  dispensing  groceries,  deep  in 
meditation  and  jotting  down  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  his  "wayward  thoughts." 

Once,  and  only  once,  he  sent  some  verses  to  a 
magazine,  but  they  were  returned  "respectfully 
declined."  He  did  not  rail  or  carp  at  the  judg- 
ment displayed,  but  contented  himself  with  say- 
ing: "Perhaps  'tis  best  that  these  stray  waifs  of 
my  brain  should  remain  with  me,  and  not  suffer 
from  the  arrows  of  adverse  criticism." 

Although  disappointed  at  the  rejection  of  his 
manuscript,  his  manner  continued  as  kindly  and  as 
cordial  as  though  he  were  the  most  favored  of 
writers. 

One  morning  as  the  grocer  was  putting  the 
finishing  touches  on  his  latest  stanzas,  an  effusion 
idealizing  the  object  of  his  secret  admiration,  Dink 
Dabney  strolled  in. 

"Good  mornin',  Mr.  Jebb." 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  71 

"Good  morning,  Dink;  if  you're  not  in  a  great 
hurry,  I'll  be  ready  to  serve  you  in  five  minutes. 
I'm  just  polishing  up  a  new  piece." 

"Don't  bust  yer  b'iler  on  my  'count,  Mr.  Jebb ;  I 
ain't  in  no  hurry,  I  kin  wait," — and  Dink  walked 
around  the  store,  deeply  interested  in  the  contents 
of  several  open  barrels. 

At  last  Jebb  put  down  the  pencil  and  scanned 
the  paper  in  his  hand,  then  turning  to  the  waiting 
customer,  said :  "Dink,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  want  er  stick  of  peppermint  candy,  Mr.  Jebb, 
but  it  must  be  fresh." 

"It  came  in  yesterday." 

"Well,  if  that's  so,  I'll  take  it.  I  hates  like  sin 
to  waste  my  money  on  stale  candy,  but  if  yer  sez 
it's  fresh,  Mr.  Jebb,  I'll  take  two  cents  worth 
of  it." 

The  grocer  took  the  candy  jar  from  the  shelf, 
extracted  the  fattest  stick  of  peppermint  and 
handed  it  to  the  boy. 

"That  looks  all  right,"  said  Dink,  eying  it  criti- 
cally, "so  here's  yer  money." 

Jebb  dropped  the  pennies  in  the  drawer. 

"Dink,  if  you're  not  in  a  hurry  and  are  fond  of 
poetry,  I'd  like  to  read  my  new  verses  to  you." 

"Go  right  ahead,  Mr.  Jebb,  I'm  mighty  fond  of 


72  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

po'try,  'specially  when  I'm  chewin'  peppermint 
candy."  The  boy  seated  himself  on  a  convenient 
soap-box. 

"This  poem,"  said  the  grocer,  "is  a  wayward 
thought,  that  I  have  entitled  Have  You  Seen  the 
Lady?  It  reads  as  follows: 

"Have  I  told  you  the  name  of  a  lady? 
Have  I  told  you  the  name  of  a  dear? 
'  Twas  known  long  ago, 
And  ends  with  an  O ; 
You  don't  hear  it  often  round  here. 

Have  I  talked  of  the  eyes  of  a  lady  ? 
Have  I  talked  of  the  eyes  that  are  bright? 

Their  color,  you  see, 

Is  B-L-U-E; 
They're  the  gin  in  the  cocktail  of  light. 

Have  I  sung  of  the  hair  of  a  lady? 
Have  I  sung  of  the  hair  of  a  dove  ? 

What  shade  do  you  say  ? 

B-L-A-C-K; 
It's  the  fizz  in  the  champagne  of  love. 

Can  you  guess  it — the  name  of  the  lady? 
She  is  sweet,  she  is  fair,  she  is  coy. 

Your  guessing  forego, 

It's  J-U-N-O ; 
She's  the  mint  in  the  julep  of  joy." 

"What's  the  answer,  Mr.  Jebb?"  said  Dink, 
greatly  puzzled. 

"It  has  no  answer,  Dink,  except  in  my  heart." 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  73 

"Oh,  I  thought  it  wuz  one  of  them — if  a  herrin' 
an'  a  ha'f  cost  a  cent  an'  a  ha'f,  how  much  will 
twelve  herrin's  cost,"  observed  the  boy. 

"No,  Dink,  it's  just  a  wayward  fancy  of  mine, 
written  within  the  week." 

"Well,  it's  mighty  good,  Mr.  Jebb;  if  it  gits 
talk'd  'bout  it'll  be  jest  as  funny  as  the  farmer 
with  the  fox  an'  the  hen  an'  the  bag  o'  corn,  tryin' 
to  cross  the  stream.  But  it's  mighty  good  po'try, 
Mr.  Jebb,"  said  Dink,  with  a  look  at  the  jar  of 
candy.  "Mighty  good  an'  no  mistake," — this 
more  pointedly. 

"Here's  another  stick  of  peppermint,  Dink,  and 
I'm  glad  you  like  the  verses,"  said  the  delighted 
grocer,  handing  the  boy  the  coveted  candy. 

"I  cert'inly  do,  Mr.  Jebb.  Whenever  yer  feel 
lonesome  to  read  to  somebody,  jest  whistle  me  up. 
I  don't  mind;  yer  can't  feaze  me  if  yer  shot  yer 
po'try  out  of  a  cannon  at  me," — and  Dink  walked 
out. 

"Per  the  sake  of  sufferin'  Moses,  why  did  yer 
stay  in  there  so  long?"  exclaimed  Curley  Harris, 
who  had  been  impatiently  waiting  for  Dink's  re- 
turn. 

"Oh,  ol'  man  Jebb  wuz  a-readin'  me  a  piece  of 
new  po'try  an'  gimme  some  candy  fer  list'nin'." 


74  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"You  must  like  him  lots  to  waste  yer  time 
hearin'  him  spout  pieces." 

"I  do  like  him,"  answered  Dink.  "I  like  ol' 
man  Jebb  'cause  he  never  noses  into  other  folks' 
bizness.  I  deals  with  him  'cause  he  don't  'spicion 
nobody." 

Whereupon  Dink  emptied  the  contents  of  his 
pockets  into  his  hat.  The  net  result  of  his  walk 
among  the  barrels  was  shown  in  an  assortment  of 
dried  apples,  cream  nuts,  raisins,  crackers  and 
lump  sugar. 

"I  bought  the  candy,"  Dink  explained,  with  in- 
ferential uprightness  and  grave  assurance,  "an' 
jest  picked  up  them  other  things  lay  in'  round 
loose.  That's  what  I  likes  'bout  ol'  man  Jebb; 
he  never  'spicions  nobody." 

"Mebbe  he  could  if  he  wanted  to,"  volunteered 
Curley,  sampling  the  sweets  in  the  hat  with  great 
satisfaction. 

"Mebbe  he  could,"  slowly  echoed  the  other, 
"but  he  don't,  an'  I  'low  he's  white  clean  through, 
fer  persons  as  is  white  clean  through  never  'spi- 
cions nobody."  And  the  two  went  away  to  find  a 
secluded  spot  to  feast  on  the  contents  of  Dink's 
hat. 

And  now  a  few  words  by  way  of  introducing 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  75 

"The  Jedge."  This  sobriquet  he  had  earned  years 
and  years  before  while  acting  as  referee  in  the 
many  cocking  mains,  county  fairs  and  racing 
events  held  in  the  vicinity.  He  was  rugged  and 
weather-beaten  from  the  effects  of  a  strenuous 
life  as  hunter  and  fisher,  extending  over  a  period 
of  more  than  forty  years.  Rheumatism  had  be- 
gun to  claim  him  as  its  victim,  and  now  at  sixty  he 
was  eking  out  a  modest  existence  by  breeding 
hunting  dogs  and  rigging  fishing  tackle. 

With  an  abundance  of  time  on  his  hands  and  a 
strongly-developed  love  for  companionship,  he 
was  a  constant  visitor  at  The  Corner. 

Carlyle  says  somewhere,  that  "habit  is  our  fun- 
damental law!  Habit  and  imitation;  there  is 
nothing  more  perennial  in  us  than  these  two."  It 
therefore  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  for  the  Jedge,  as  soon  as  he  had  eaten  his 
supper,  to  fill  his  pipe,  light  it  with  a  hot  coal 
from  the  kitchen,  and  proceed  to  Jebb's  for  a  chat 
with  the  grocer  and  "the  boys." 

The  boys  were  the  duck-hunters  and  those  in- 
terested in  sports,  afield  and  afloat.  Nightly,  in 
a  little  room  in  the  rear  of  the  store,  these 
worthies  congregated  and  discussed  guns,  dogs, 
birds  and  game  generally,  with  that  unflagging 


76  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

interest  felt  only  in  a  community  where  quail  and 
pheasant,  woodcock  and  waterfowl  are  plentiful 
and  much  sought. 

The  Jedge  was  a  central  figure  in  this  circle  and 
every  subject  of  argument  and  dispute  was  unhesi- 
tatingly referred  to  him.  Whether  a  pointer  was 
better  than  a  setter,  a  breech-loader  better  than  a 
muzzle-loader,  a  choke-bore  better  than  a  spatter- 
dab,  a  partridge  quicker  than  a  blue-wing,  binoc- 
ular surer  than  single  sight,  and,  in  fact  any 
question  affecting  gunning,  hunting  and  fishing 
in  their  varied  ramifications,  was  left  to  him  for 
adjustment. 

It  was  a  blustering  evening  in  the  late  winter 
months,  and  the  Jedge  had  entered  the  little  room 
where  the  coterie  of  faithfuls  assembled.  With 
hearty  salutations  exchanged,  he  seated  himself 
in  his  accustomed  chair  in  line  with  a  rat-hole  at 
the  side,  that  served  him  as  a  convenient  cuspidor. 

"Enny  ducks  flyin',  Buck?" — this  addressed  to 
a  tall,  unshaven  young  man  who  lived  by  hunting 
on  the  river. 

"Plenty  of  ducks  flyin'  this  mornin',  Jedge,  but 
I  never  seen  'em  so  knowin'." 

"Ducks  does  get  awful  knowin'  sometimes,"  in- 
terposed the  Jedge. 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  77 

"When  me  an'  Codfish  Richards,"  continued 
Buck,  "got  out  on  the  P'int  this  mornin'  an'  set 
our  decoys/  Codfish  up  an'  sez,  sez  he,  while  he 
was  a-blowin'  his  fingers  warm — it  wuz  as  cold 
as  sin — 'It  'pears  to  me  we're  goin'  to  have  some 
shootin','  an'  I  didn't  see  no  reason  fer  to  conter- 
dict  him,  so  I  didn't  say  nuthin'  an'  I  jest  got 
inter  the  blind.  Whitebacks  come  'long  mighty 
soon  an'  ev'ry  time  they'd  git  near  the  decoys, 
they'd  go  way  up  in  the  air  as  if  they  wuz  scrapin' 
their  backs  ag'in  the  clouds,  an'  then  fly  on.  Me 
and  Codfish  stayed  thare  until  we  wuz  froze  stiff. 
Then  we  picked  up  the  decoys  an'  went  'shore  an' 
lit  a  fire  to  thaw  out.  An'  I  hope  I  may  die,  if  a 
gang  of  canvasbacks  didn't  sail  by  us  high  up, 
a-puttin'  up  their  feet  'gainst  their  bills,  jest  like 
yer  seen  boys  do  behind  yer  back,  and  we  never 
got  a  feather.  'Tain't  no  use  talkin',  ducks  is 
gettin'  mighty  knowin'  these  days." 

"Them  actions,"  said  the  Jedge  to  the  inter- 
ested listeners,  "is  what  scientific  men  call  orni- 
thological sagacity," — and  all  present  held  their 
cheeks  suggestive  of  the  jaw-breaking  quality  of 
the  remark. 

"I  spec'  I  never  tol'  yer  'bout  poor  Ned  Doogey 
an'  his  duck." 


78  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"No,  Jedge;  never  told  it  to  me  as  fur  as  I  kin 
think,"  said  big  Bill  Dabney. 

"Or  to  me,"  came  from  half  a  dozen  voices 
simultaneously. 

"I  kalkerlate  ye' re  right,  fer  I  entirely  disre- 
member  the  time  that  I  told  it  to  a  soul,  if  I  ever 
did,"  ventured  the  Jedge. 

"Go  ahead,  now,  Jedge;  we  wants  to  hear  it, 
an'  we'll  hump  ourselves  a-list'ninY'  exclaimed 
Buck  Wesley,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the  old 
man. 

The  latter  emptied  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
slowly  refilled  the  bowl  with  kinnikinick,  then 
dexterously  taking  a  lighted  coal  from  the  grate, 
lit  the  tobacco,  and  for  a  full  minute  puffed  in 
silence. 

"Takin'  it  by  an'  large,  I  should  say,  Ned  Doo- 
gey  wuz  the  quietest  mortal  I  ever  seen.  Ther' 
wuz  nobody  as  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on,  as  could 
beat  him  list'nin',  an'  he  wuz  that  perlite  he 
wouldn't  a-crowded  the  mourners  at  his  own 
funeril;  an'  gals,  gals  scared  him  most  to  death 
when  they'd  look  at  him,  an'  that  wuz  mighty 
of'en,  fer  Ned  wuz  cert'nly  a  scrumptious-lookin' 
feller.  He  got  to  shyin'  at  the  gals  so,  we  talked 
of  puttin'  blinders  on  him. 


"DINK,   I'D  I.IKE  TO  READ  MY  NEW  VERSES  TO  YOU  ' 


Page  71 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  79 

"Me  an'  him  wuz  mighty  chummy,  an'  in  ca- 
hoots fer  lots  o'  years,  until  ther'  comes  a  change 
in  Ned's  career.  Long  'bout  this  time,  a  man  an' 
his  wife  an'  a  raft  of  children  from  'way  up  ther' 
somewher'  comes  an'  rents  a  house  next  door  to 
Ned.  It  wuz  one  of  them  awful  nosey  families 
what  tries  ter  smell  what  yer  have  fer  dinner,  an' 
peeks  over  an'  counts  yer  wash  when  it's  hangin' 
on  the  line. 

"Ther'  wuz  'n  old  maid  in  the  gang  who  prob- 
ably turn'd  sour  first  time  she  heard  thunder. 
She  wuz  tagged  Simphronia,  an*  she  looked  it. 
Simphronia  wuz  a  screamer,  an'  no  apology  to 
nobody.  She  could  outcackle  a  hen  convention, 
an'  fer  nacherel  beauty,  she  had  a  potato  trap  like 
a  poor  man's  rent,  from  year  to  year.  As  fer 
flesh,  she  wuz  jest  'bout  as  thin  as  the  last 
run  o*  shad. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  she  hypno- 
tized, or  mesmerized,  or  galvanized,  or  some 
other  'ized'  poor  Ned,  an'  afore  yer  know  it,  he 
wuz  steady  comp'ny  an'  wuz  callin'  ev'ry  evenin' 
from  eight  to  ten,  punctual.  'Twan't  more'n  four 
or  five  years  afore  she  nailed  him  an'  he  wuz  a 
goner. 

"The  first  I  know'd  of  it  wuz  when  Ned  meets 


80  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

me,  an'  sez,  'Jedge,  I  wants  yer  to  stan'  up  with 
me/ 

"  'Stan'  up  with  yer,'  I  sez,  fearin'  the  worst. 

"  That's  it,  stan'  up  with  me,'  he  sez,  lookin' 
aroun'  like  a  scar'd  dog. 

"  'Who's  the  lady  ?'  I  says,  pretendin'. 

"  'Simphronia,'  he  sez. 

"  'Simphronia,'  I  sez ;  'great  Scott,  how  did  it 
happen?' 

"  'I  ax'd  her,'  he  sez,  gettin'  red  all  over,  'cause 
he  never  could  tell  a  whopper  an'  not  show  it. 

"Well,  sir,  in  a  month  Ned  wuz  hitched  to  Sim- 
phronia,  an'  then  his  troubles  begun,  sure  'nough. 
If  ther'  ever  lived  a  torment  on  this  'ere  mundane 
sphere,  as  scientific  men  would  say,  Simphronia 
was  her  cognomen. 

"Afore  the  honeymoon  wuz  over,  she  begun  to 
clapper-claw  an'  tongue-lash  poor  Ned  from  day- 
break to  dark. 

"A  bunch  of  fire-crackers  explodin'  in  a  flour 
barrel  wuz  the  stillness  o'  death  compared  to  her 
goin's-on  when  she  got  warmed  up.  When  he 
come  home  from  work  she'd  make  him  go  round 
to  the  back  door  an'  brush  hisself  till  she  con- 
cluded to  let  him  in,  an'  then  she'd  keep  him  tied 
to  her  apron  strings,  jest  as  if  he  wuz  a  baby.  He 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  8 1 

couldn't  go  two  hoots  an'  a  holler,  without  gittin' 
bullyragged  by  her,  an'  takin'  it  all  in  all,  his  mar- 
riage wuz  a  failure,  but  he  sed  nuthin'  to  nobody. 

"After  a  while  she  gits  it  into  her  head  that  she 
wuz  ailin',  an'  she'd  groan  an'  roll  her  eyes  like  a 
dyin'  calf,  from  sun-up  to  bed-time.  Ther'  wuz 
no  new-fangled  disease  that  got  talked  about,  but 
what  she'd  have  it  right  on  time. 

"I'm  a-callin'  to  mind  Ned  tellin'  me  that  poor 
Simphronia  wuz  full  of  misery  an'  aches,  an'  I 
sez,  'What  is  troublin'  her  ?' 

"  'It's  insomny,'  he  sez,  'insomny,  an'  she  sleeps 
through  it  so  hard,  I  has  to  run  aroun'  the  room 
a-shoutin'  "House  afire!"  and  "Mad  dog!"  at  the 
top  o'  my  voice  afore  she  wakes  up.' 

"As  I  wuz  sayin',  I  never  found  nobody  as 
could  beat  Ned  a-list'nin',  but  hones'  to  goodness, 
if  she  didn't  wear  him  out  at  that.  One  day  he 
comes  to  me  a-lookin'  as  thin  as  a  shadder,  an' 
mighty  peaked,  too,  an'  he  sez,  'Jedge,  the  doctor 
sez  I  must  have  a  change,  an'  I  don't  know  jest 
what  to  do.' 

"  'If  I  wuz  you,  Ned,'  I  sez,  'I'd  take  a  half- 
day  off,  an'  go  out  on  the  river  an'  amuse  myself.' 

"  'I  don't  believe  Simphronia  would  like  it/  he 
sez,  a-coughin'  fer  a  whole  minute. 


82  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"  "Tain't  necessary  fer  her  to  know  nuthin' 
'bout  it,'  I  whispered  coaxingly. 

"  'But  how  kin  I  do  it  without  her  knowin'  it  ?' 
he  sez,  scared  like. 

"  'Easy  as  rollin'  off  a  log,'  sez  I.  'Jest  take 
my  skiff  an'  gun  an'  I'll  give  yer  a  horn  o'  powder 
and  a  shot  pouch,  an'  you  paddle  down  to  Pencote 
a-huntin'  fer  ducks.  Mebbe  you'll  find  some,  an' 
mebbe  yer  won't.  But  that  won't  interfere  with 
the  huntin',  jest  the  same.'  He  agrees  to  my  ad- 
vice an'  takes  the  afternoon  off,  the  first  Saterday 
comin'.  When  he  gits  down  to  the  P'int  jest 
t'other  side  o'  Pencote,  he  sees  a  solitary  duck 
a-cavortin'  round  in  the  cove.  He  creeps  up  cau- 
tious, an'  lets  fly.  Down  dives  Mr.  Duck,  an' 
after  a  while  comes  up  'bout  fifty  yards  further 
off,  with  nary  a  shot  in  him.  Ned  loads  again, 
picks  up  his  paddle,  an'  creeps  up.  When  he's 
near,  bang!  bang!  he  goes,  an'  down  dives  the 
duck  onct  more. 

"Well,  sir,  he  chases  that  duck  all  round  Pen- 
cote, an'  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he  runs 
short  o'  powder  an'  shot,  an'  he  never  as  much  as 
teches  a  feather.  Then  he  goes  home," 

"What  kind  er  duck  wuz  he,  Jedge?"  inter- 
rupted Bill  Dabney. 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  83 

"He  wuz  what  scientific  men  call  a  grebe,  but 
known  round  here  as  a  'water  witch.' ' 

"An*  if  yer  enjoys  spicy  language,  'hell  diver* 
suits  him  mighty  well,"  added  Buck. 

"They  b'longs  to  the  loon  fam'ly,  an*  'tain't  no 
trick  fer  'em  to  dive  when  yer  dick  yer  trigger, 
an'  when  the  smoke  clears  away,  up  they  bobs, 
sassy  as  a  monkey  on  a  stick." 

"Fer  a  cute  duck,  I  puts  my  money  on  a  grebe 
ev'ry  time,"  concluded  Buck. 

"Next  Saterday  Ned  takes  the  gun  an'  paddles 
down  ag'in.  When  he  gits  to  Pencote,  what  does 
he  see  but  that  'ere  same  duck  a-movin'  round. 
He  crawls  up  an'  shoots  an'  shoots,  an'  when  it 
wuz  nigh  unto  dark,  Ned  had  run  out  er  ammer- 
nition,  an'  that  duck  wuz  still  swimmin'  round 
as  lively  as  yer  please. 

"When  Ned  gits  home  that  night,  Simphronia 
wuz  havin'  the  hypo,  an'  she  jest  wore  her  jaw 
out  a-lashin'  him,  but,  oh  Lor*,  he  didn't  mind, 
he  wuz  a-thinkin'  of  that  'ere  water  witch.  He 
got  anxious  fer  next  Saterday  ter  come,  an'  when 
it  did,  down  the  river  he  steals  ag'in.  I'm  a  liar 
if  there  wuzn't  that  same  duck,  an*  he  begun 
shootin'  at  him  an'  missin'  him  as  usual.  Ned 
sed  'bout  the  thirty-fourth  shot  he  tho't  he  hit 


84  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

him,  but  while  he  wuz  watchin',  up  bobs  the 
diver,  an'  shook  his  head,  as  if  he  was  laughin' 
an'  sayin' — 'That  wuz  a  mighty  close  call,  stran- 
ger'— an'  then  dove  round,  jest  playful  like.  Ned 
sed  the  duck  seemed  to  take  awful  chances  that 
afternoon  to  sort  er  encourage  him,  'cause  he 
could  see  Ned  wuz  kind  er  down  in  the  mouth. 

"Well,  sir,  that  'ere  water  witch  got  so  used  to 
Ned  comin'  ev'ry  Saterday,  he'd  swim  out  in  the 
channel  an'  welcome  him.  Ned  sed  he  b'lieved 
that  'ere  duck  wuz  full  of  sportin'  blood  an'  en- 
joyed the  pleasures  of  shootin',  jest  as  if  he  car- 
ried a  gun  hisself. 

"  'Long  toward  spring,  he  seemed  to  know 
when  Ned's  powder  wuz  used  up,  an'  would  foller 
the  poor  feller  up  the  river  as  far  as  his  boat 
landin'.  Ned  sed  it  wuz  mighty  entertainin'  to 
watch  him  circle  round  the  skiff,  an'  after  a  while 
he  got  so  familiar  he'd  wait  at  the  wharf,  and  fly 
clean  to  Ned's  home  an'  then  skedaddle  fer  Pen- 
cote. 

"Bimeby,  poor  Ned  takes  to  his  bed  sick,  an' 
mighty  sick  at  that,  an'  when  Saterday  comes  he 
couldn't  go  a-shootin'.  And  when  the  next  three 
Saterdays  come,  he  couldn't  go  a-shootin'.  He 
had  what  scientific  men  calls  tuberculosis,  but 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  85 

what  I  calls  nothin'  else  but  gallopin'  con- 
sumption. 

"'Long  'bout  the  fifth  Saterday,  poor  Ned  sez 
to  me,  while  I  wuz  sittin'  by  his  bed,  'If  I  could 
only  see  my  duck  ag'in  I'd  die  happy/  an'  lo  an' 
behold,  I  heard  a  tappin'  at  the  window,  an'  if 
ther'  wuzn't  that  water  witch  a-lookin'  in!  I 
raised  Ned  up,  an'  I  hope  I  may  die  if  the  duck 
didn't  nod  his  head  as  familiar  as  possible.  Ned 
wuz  satisfied,  an'  right  there  an'  then  he  gave  up. 

"We  buried  him  out  in  the  cemetery,  down 
close  to  the  river,  an'  when  the  first  Sunday 
comes,  I  goes  out  with  a  rosebush  to  put  over 
Ned's  head,  an'  when  I  gets  ther'  I  sees  somethin' 
strange  a-lyin'  on  his  grave.  It  wuz  Ned's  duck, 
stark  an'  stiff  in  death.  An'  I  sed  then,  an'  I  sez 
now,  it  wuz  a  clear  case  o'  suicide,  or  I'm  a  liar." 

"What  did  yer  do  with  him,  Jedge  ?"  asked  big 
Bill  Dabney. 

"I  buried  him  right  next  to  Ned,  an'  put  up  a 
shingle  with  these  'ere  words  carved  on  it: 

"  'He  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well.' ' 

After  a  thorough  discussion  of  the  peculiarities 
of  ducks  generally,  and  of  Ned  Doogey's  in  par- 
ticular, the  coterie  started  to  go.  Buttoning  coats 
and  turning  up  collars,  for  it  was  unusually  cold, 


86  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

they  filed  out  with  a  friendly  good  night  to  the 
grocer. 

The  Jedge  alone  remained.  His  Llewellyn 
setter  dog,  Rover,  which,  until  this  moment,  had 
been  stretched  lazily  before  the  stove,  raised  him- 
self slowly,  stood  up,  yawned  and  stretched  his 
forelegs  to  their  full  length.  He  blinked  his  beau- 
tiful eyes,  shook  himself,  and  going  over  to  the 
Jedge,  placed  his  head  softly  and  lovingly  on  his 
master's  knee  and  looked  into  the  old  man's  face 
quizzically.  The  Jedge  stroked  the  setter  ten- 
derly, saying,  "Think  it's  time  to  go,  do  yer, 
Rover?" 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail  joyously,  and  he  and 
his  master  walked  out  of  the  back  room  into  the 
store.  Jebb  was  sitting  back  of  the  counter  en- 
gaged in  writing.  He  looked  up  and  said: 
"Jedge,  if  you're  not  in  a  great  hurry,  won't  you 
stop  and  have  a  night-cap  with  me?" 

"Titcomb,  yer  knows  my  weakness.  A  night- 
cap is  a  powerful  argerment," — and  the  Jedge 
seated  himself  on  a  barrel. 

Jebb  drew  from  under  the  counter  a  bottle  of 
rum  and  a  pitcher  of  molasses,  together  with  two 
tumblers. 

"Titcomb,  don't  make  it  too  strong.    Yer  kind 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  87 

er  put  in  too  much  licker  las'  night.  If  yer  don't 
mind  my  suggesting  I  like  about  three  parts  rum 
to  one  o'  molasses.  But  bear  in  mind,  it's  pnly 
my  suggestion." 

The  grocer  handed  a  tumbler  to  the  Jedge  who 
lifted  the  glass  and  said,  "Well,  here's  what 
killed  dad."  He  drank  the  contents  with  evident 
relish,  after  which  he  wiped  his  mouth  on  his 
sleeve  and  continued:  "Titcomb,  do  yer  realize 
that  we're  enjoyin'  blessin's  denied  to  less  favored 
mortals  ?" 

"In  what  way?"  asked  the  grocer. 

"I  was  a-readin'  in  the  Philadelphy  Inquiry, 
that  Jamaicy  rum  and  molasses  went  up  five  cents 
a  gallon  yesterday,  an'  if  we're  not  careful  no- 
body but  millionaires  can  drink  it4  which  is 
mighty  hard  on  those  poor  miserable  sinners  who 
can't  buy  it  by  the  year,  like  me  an'  you."  There- 
upon the  Jedge  reached  for  a  second  glass  of  the 
same  mixture. 

"Jedge,  have  you  traveled  much?"  queried  Tit- 
comb. 

"Oh,  well,  I  should  say  considerable.  I've 
been  all  the  way  to  Philadelphy  twice,  an'  I  have 
flucterated  roun'  other  p'ints  of  the  compass  be- 
tween times." 


88  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  asked  you  this  question,  Jedge,  because  I 
know  you  are  an  experienced  man  of  the  world. 
I  must  confide  in  some  one.  I'm  in  love." 

"I'm  a-list'nin',"  said  the  old  man,  taking  a 
long  sip  from  the  tumbler. 

"And  what  I  want  to  ask  you/'  said  Titcomb, 
"is  this.  Is  it  proper  for  me  to  love  a  lady  with- 
out communicating  the  fact  to  her?" 

"That's  er  enigmy,  as  scientific  men  would  say, 
but  my  opinion  offhan'  is  that  yer  had  better  tell 
her,  an'  not  remain  er  access' ry  before  the  fact." 

"Jedge,  day  and  night,  sleeping  and  waking,  I 
have  thought  to  tell  her,  but  I've  always  been 
afraid.  Her  image  never  leaves  me,  and  if  I 
should  die,  I  believe  that  like  that  Queen  of  Eng- 
land who  said  that  Calais  would  be  engraved  on 
her  heart,  you  wpuld  find  Mary  engraved  on 
mine." 

"Yer've  got  it  bad,  Titcomb.  'Tain't  no  funeril 
of  mine,  but  I  don't  think  it  would  be  right  to 
keep  the  lady  in  the  dark." 

"Yes,  but  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  afraid  to  tell 
her." 

"What  are  yer  afeard  of?  Don't  act  like  a 
poor  boy  at  a  huskin' ;  speak  out  like  a  man." 

"You  don't  understand,  Jedge;  she  is  not  a 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  89 

single  girl,  let  me  tell  you,  but  the  mother  of  a 
half-grown  boy." 

The  Jedge  jumped  up  quickly,  and,  grabbing 
his  tumbler,  burst  out : 

"Titcomb  Jebb,  what's  this  shenanigen  yer 
givin'  me?" 

"Sit  down,  Jedge,  you  don't  understand." 

"I'm  ashamed  of  yer,  Titcomb,  a-comin'  an' 
askin'  me  to  tell  yer  how  to  carry  on  a  flirtation 
with  a  married  woman.  Shame  on  yer !" 

"You  don't  understand,  Jedge.  She  was  mar- 
ried once." 

"Married  once ;  well,  an'  what  is  she  now  ?" 

"She's  the  Widow  Foley." 

"The  Widder  Foley?"  and  the  Jedge  laughed 
uproariously.  "An'  to  think  I  was  putterin'  'bout 
an'  raisin'  Cain  'cause  I  thought  yer  wuz  tryin' 
to  gallivant  round  forbidden  fruit!  But  I  sees 
it  now.  Bully  for  the  widder !" 

After  the  Jedge  had  dried  his  eyes,  which  were 
wet  from  laughter,  and  had  taken  a  fresh  chew  of 
tobacco,  he  said : 

"Titcomb,  she's  a  fine-lookin'  woman.  She's  as 
pretty  a  piece  p'  calico  as  yer'll  find  in  this  'ere 
place;  but  oh,  Lord,  she's  got  a  temper." 

"She  has  much  to  worry  her." 


90  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  dunno  whether  yer  can  get  her  workin'  in 
double  harness  ag'in  or  not.  She  had  a  ornery 
mate,  I've  bin  tol',  when  she  trotted  with  Dennis 
Foley,  but  mebbe  she  can  be  coaxed  into  the  traces 
onct  more." 

"And  that's  why  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  don't 
want  to  break  it  to  her  too  suddenly." 

"'Tain't  necessary  fer  yer  to  do  that,  Titcomb ; 
jest  start  in  by  a-readin'  yer  po'try  to  her.  Women 
are  powerful  fond  of  nater  and  sich  like  things, 
an'  when  ye've  kind  er  got  her  in  the  runnin',  yer 
can  spring  the  question  on  her,  after  her  soul  has 
b'en  swayed  by  breezes  and  treeses,  an'  doves 
an'  loves,  an'  if  she  don't  drop  like  a  ripe  persim- 
mon, yer  can  call  me  the  little  end  of  nuthin'." 

"I'll  try  your  plan,  Jedge;  it  can't  do  any  harm, 
anyway." 

"'Tain't  no  woman  kin  fly  in  the  face  of  sich 
po'try  as  you  write,  Titcomb,  an'  I  kin  already  see 
the  lady  a-writin'  her  name,  Mrs.  Titcomb  Jebb," 
said  the  old  philosopher  slowly  and  impressively. 

"Mrs.  Titcomb  Jebb,"  echoed  the  grocer,  happy 
in  the  newness  of  the  sound.  But  he  shook  his 
head  dubiously.  "Jedge,  it  seems  like  an  impos- 
sibility." 

"Titcomb,"  said  the  old  man,  rising  and  going 


OLD  MAN  JEBB  91 

toward  the  door,  "I've  blown  out  the  candle  more 
times  than  you  have,  therefore  I  sez  I  kin  see  the 
lady  a-writin'  her  name  Mrs. — Titcomb — Jebb." 
And  the  Jedge  and  his  Llewellyn  were  homeward 
bound. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN   THE  I<ORD  MADE  THE   RIVER 

Egg-picking  was  long  past;  Easter  had  come 
and  gone;  the  frost  had  vanished  before  the 
warm  breath  of  spring  and  the  verdure  of  nature 
was  again  on  the  earth.  June  in  all  her  splendor 
was  here.  Miss  Latham's  school  term  was  near- 
ing  its  end.  Examinations  were  over,  and  little 
remained  but  to  pick  up  the  odds  and  ends  of  the 
scholastic  year  and  prepare  for  the  closing  exer- 
cises. 

The  day  was  almost  sultry  and  the  morning 
sun  was  streaming  through  the  windows  of  the 
school-room.  That  restlessness  so  common 
among  children,  when  the  days  of  study  have  past 
and  the  pleasures  of  summer  are  calling,  was  par- 
ticularly observable,  and,  in  flagrant  cases,  called 
forth  the  teacher's  mild  censure. 

One  boy  alone  was  quiet.  It  was  Sandy.  With 
elbows  resting  on  the  desk,  his  hands  supporting 
his  head,  he  was  gazing  half  dreamily  and  wist- 
fully out  and  beyond  the  open  window  near  him. 
92 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER       93 

The  soft  breeze  came  from  the  south,  lazily  rus- 
tling the  leaves  of  the  open  book  before  him,  and 
then,  as  if  tired  of  the  exertion,  died  away. 

Turning  from  his  reverie,  Sandy  sighed,  then 
closing  the  book,  looked  at  Gilbert  sitting  next  to 
him,  and  said:  "Don't  yer  think  the  Lord  wuz 
pleased  when  He  made  the  river  ?" 

Gilbert  raised  his  head  and  gazed  smilingly  at 
the  other  boy:  "You  remember  what  the  Bible 
says,  Sandy,  And  God  saw  everything  that  He 
had  made  and,  behold,  it  was  very  good." 

"Yes,  I  heerd  that  afore.  I  disremember  jest 
this  minit  who  said  it.  It  might  'a'  been  the 
minister,  or  mebbe  Mr.  Parker  in  Sunday-school, 
but  I  heerd  it  somewhere.  An'  I  knows  it's  true, 
'cause  it's  in  the  Bible.  But  is  ther'  anythin'  in 
the  Bible  specially  'bout  our  river?" 

"Hardly,"  answered  the  little  fellow.  "The 
Bible,  of  course,  does  speak  of  rivers,  particularly 
in  Revelation;  but,  why  should  it  mention  just 
our  river,  Sandy?" 

"I  don't  know  nuthin'  'bout  t'other  people's 
rivers,  but  I  does  know  our'n  backwards,  upside 
down,  from  the  Pencote  clear  to  an'  beyond  Oys- 
ter Shell  Landin',  an'  that's  mostly  all  of  it.  An' 
it's  great!  An'  that's  why  I  thought  mebbe  the 


94  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Lord  wuz  specially  pleased  with  the  makin'  of  it, 
an'  said  so  in  the  Bible." 

"No,  Sandy,"  answered  Gilbert,  "I've  read  the 
Bible  from  Genesis  to  the  end,  and  I'm  sure 
there's  nothing  about  our  river." 

"Now  yer  look  a-here,  little  codger," — a  sudden 
animation  taking  possession  of  the  older  boy,  as 
with  forefinger  moving  up  and  down,  he  began: 
"Let's  take  the  river  from  year  in  to  year  out, 
from  January  to  January.  When  New  Year 
comes  it  gits  too  cold  fer  to  sail  a  boat  or  hunt 
ducks;  the  river  freezes  up  so  yer  kin  skate,  an' 
play  shinny,  an'  cut  yer  name  on  the  ice.  An'  it 
stays  frozen,  off  an'  on,  till  March.  Then  the 
thaw  comes  an'  yer  go  fishin'.  An'  the  river  gits 
itself  full  of  'em.  Yer  put  out  yer  seine  an'  yer 
haul  in  shad  an'  herrin',  an*  yer  drap  yer  lines 
overboard  an'  yank  in  rock,  an'  perch,  an'  catties, 
an'  so  on. 

"Then  the  river  sez,  'spec'  yer  want  a  change,' 
an'  it's  gittin'  roun'  spring.  The  jack-snipes  are 
dartin'  an'  turnin'  like  cork-screws,  an'  the  yaller- 
shanks  an'  killdees  are  hoppin'  'long  the  shore,  an' 
ye're  havin'  a  time  with  'em.  Then  yer  goes 
Mayin'  an*  watches  the  swallows  skimmin',  jest 
gittin'  yer  second  wind  like.  But  the  river  don't 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER       95 

rest ;  it  sez  to  yer,  it's  mos'  time  to  go  swimmin'. 
An'  the  water  gits  warm  an'  yer  tumble  in  ev'ry 
day  jest  as  much  as  yer  like,  an'  about  the  time  the 
air  gits  chilly,  and  ye're  tired  of  swimmin',  the 
ortolan  an'  reed-birds  commences  to  fly,  an'  then 
when  they  git  scarce  the  ducks  are  swoopin'  down 
on  yer  decoys,  an'  afore  yer  know  it,  it's  January 
ag'in." 

Sandy  once  more  looked  out  of  the  window  in 
the  direction  of  his  beloved  river,  and  drew  a  long 
sigh.  To  him  it  meant  a  world  of  beautiful 
dreams. 

As  a  little  child  he  had  gathered  shells  and  peb- 
bles along  its  shore.  When  the  tide  was  low  he 
had  splashed  and  waded  in  its  pools.  Down  by 
the  Old  Burnt  Bridge  he  had  learned  to  swim,  and 
from  Pencote  to  Bladensburg  he  had  paddled  and 
sailed,  and  shot  and  fished  since  earliest  boyhood. 

And  the  river!  Is  it  as  beautiful  as  Sandy 
dreams  ? 

Its  sinuous  channel  now  winds  in  and  out  of 
the  tangle  of  wild  rice  marshes;  now  silently 
sweeps  abreast  the  banks  of  green  beyond  the 
dotted  beds  of  wankapins  and  lily-pads;  now 
circles  past  great  emerald  hills  whose  bases  are 
edged  with  ivoried  sand,  and  shadowed  by  the 


96  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

drooping  limbs  of  weeping  willows  and  gray- 
hued  boughs  of  mighty  oaks. 

Again,  straightened  and  stately,  it  courses  on 
'twixt  lines  of  latticed  reeds,  and  now,  spreading 
over  amber-colored  shoals,  deep-chested  coves  and 
beds  of  matted  grass,  it  flows  with  rhythmic 
grace  to  meet  the  waters  of  the  greater  stream 
beyond. 

Sandy's  enthusiasm  over  the  river  was  quickly 
absorbed  by  Gilbert.  The  impatience  of  the  schol- 
ars, generally,  was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  ring- 
ing of  the  bell  and  the  dismissal  of  the  pupils  for 
the  day.  When  the  two  boys  were  outside  the 
building,  Sandy  said : 

"Gil,  if  yer  don't  mind,  please  take  my  books 
home  with  you,  an'  I'll  come  fer  'em  after  supper. 
I  wants  to  see  somebody  'bout  somethin'  orful 
partic'lar,  an'  I'm  in  er  all-fired  hurry." 

"I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  want,"  volunteered 
Gilbert 

"I'd  ruther  not  have  yer,  Gil,  an'  don't  ask  me 
no  questions  an'  I  won't  tell  yer  no  lies.  Mebbe 
to-night,  if  I  sees  yer,  I'll  tell  yer  why." 

And  Sandy  was  off  like  the  wind.  He  stopped 
in  front  of  a  little  frame  house,  the  Jedge's 
humble  abode,  and  found  that  worthy  seated  in  a 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER       97 

large  chair  on  the  pleasant  porch,  back  of  the 
kitchen. 

The  old  man  was  busily  engaged  in  whittling 
smooth  the  knots  in  a  long  thin  hickory  pole  in- 
tended, clearly,  for  a  fishing-rod,  as  evidenced  by 
the  cords,  hooks  and  sinkers  lying  about. 

As  Sandy  drew  near,  the  Jedge  exclaimed: 
"Hello,  Sandy,  yer  seem  to  be  in  er  hurry." 

"Yes,  Jedge,  I  want  er  have  a  talk  with  yer 
'bout  a  boat,  an'  I  wants  to  git  it  off  my  mind  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"Sail  right  in,  my  boy,  I'm  a-list'nin'." 

"Jedge,  I  was  put  on  the  river  yesterday  lookin' 
at  that  boat  yer  give  me  two  years  ago,  an'  I  finds 
it's  done  for." 

"I  spec'  the  worms  must  have  nearly  chawed  it 
up  afore  this,  Sandy,  for  it's  a  powerful  old  boat." 

"But  it's  done  fer  now,  Jedge.  When  I  tried 
to  haul  her  out  o'  the  shed  to  float  her,  she  jest 
drapped  to  pieces,  she  was  so  rottin.  She 's 
petered  out,  sure  'nuff." 

"She  wuz  a  good  one,  Sandy,  an'  no  mistake. 
I  built  her  nigh  on  ter  twenty-five  years  ago.  I 
don't  think  boats  nowadays  are  put  up  like  they 
wuz  in  my  time." 

"I  spec'  that's  so,  Jedge,  an'  that's  why  I  come 


98  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

to  see  yer.  D'yer  think  I  kin  build  one  as  good  as 
her?" 

"Are  yer  askin'  me  first  hand,  Sandy?" 

"I  haven't  breathed  it  to  a  soul,  Jedge." 

After  a  long  pause:  "D'yer  inten'  buildin'  a 
keel,  or  a  flat-bottom?" 

"A  flat-bottom  jumper,  Jedge." 

Another  long  pause,  during  which  the  Jedge 
kept  on  smoothing  the  knots  in  the  fishing-rod. 

"Sandy,  I've  watched  yer  caref'ly  these  many 
years,  an'  I've  seen  all  along  that  ye're  a  biddable 
boy,  an'  I  haven't  failed  to  tell  other  folks  that 
ye're  a  most  biddable  boy.  But  I  must  say,  if  I 
don't  want  to  monkey  with  the  truth,  to  build  a 
boat  like  that  'ere  one  I  gave  yer  takes  a  powerful 
intellect,  to  say  nothin'  of  hereditary  propensities, 
as  scientific  men  observe  when  they  mean  ye're 
born  a-knowin'  how." 

Sandy's  face  wore  a  look  pf  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. 

"To  put  up  a  boat  what  won't  spring  no  leak, 
an'  will  float  an'  don't  turn  over  if  yer  forgit  to 
part  yer  hair  in  the  middle,  is  a  mighty  big  job," 
continued  the  old  man. 

"Well,  Jedge,  don't  yer  think  I  might  try?" 

"That's  jest  what  I  wuz  gittin'  to,  Sandy.     I 


SANDY    FOUND   THE   JEDGE    SEATED   ON    THE    PORCH       Page  97 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER       99 

wants  yer  to  do  the  trick  right  here  in  my  back 
yard,  under  my  instructions,  which  I  will  give 
free-gratis-fer-nuthin',  without  pay,  an'  if  we 
don't  put  up  the  best  jumper  in  this  'ere  neck  o' 
the  woods,  we  needn't  say  so." 

"Thank  yer  kindly,  Jedge.  How  much  will  it 
cost  fer  the  stuff  to  build  'er?"  and  Sandy  waited 
eagerly,  while  the  Jedge  made  a  mental  calcu- 
lation. 

"Lemme  see;  we  want  two  seven-eighths  planks 
o'  dressed  cedar  fer  the  sides,  'bout  four  oak 
knees,  one  midship  mold,  a  cedar  bottom,  oak 
transom,  seats  an'  rudder,  bow  piece,  nails, 
screws,  rivets,  oar-locks,  stuff  to  caulk  her,  sails 
an'  a  few  other  things,  besides.  I  should  think 
we  could  build  her  fer  eight  dollars." 

"D'yer  think  she  could  be  built  fer  that  much, 
Jedge?"  asked  Sandy  anxiously. 

"Mebbe,  a  quarter  or  fifty  cents  more,  if  yer 
wants  to  put  on  luggs;  but  I  spec'  that  will  be 
'nough  to  put  up  a  good  boat.  How  much  has 
yer  salted  away  as  a  starter,  Sandy?" 

"I've  got  thirteen  cents  now,  an'  I'm  goin'  to 
git  fifteen  cents  more  fer  carryin'  in  the  minister's 
coal  when  I  leave  here.  An'  that  ain't  very  much, 
is  it,  Jedge?" 


100  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"No,  that  ain't  very  much,  Sandy.  If  I  wuzn't 
jest  a  bit  strapped  fer  money,  I'd  lend  yer  the  bal- 
ance. But  what's  in  yer  mind  to  git  it  ?" 

"I  thought  mebbe  I  could  go  out  afore  light 
a-fishin'  an'  peddle  what  I  ketched,  an'  that 
wouldn't  be  hurtin'  nobody." 

"That's  all  right,  Sandy,  an'  I'll  speak  to  Tit- 
comb  Jebb  to-night,  an'  mebbe  he  '11  take  some 
of  yer  ketchin'  fer  the  store,  an'  that  would  help 
amazin'.  I'll  see  him  afore  bedtime,  an'  you  see 
him  fust  thing  in  the  mornin',  an'  find  what  he'll 
take  of  yer  ketchin's." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Sandy,  "an'  mebbe,  afore  I 
knows  it,  I'll  have  the  spondulix,  and  we  kin  com- 
mence on  her.  I  hope  the  fish  '11  bite,  at  least 
eight  dollars'  worth,  mighty  soon." 

The  boy  went  straight  to  the  minister's  house, 
and  shoveled  and  stored  coal  for  three  hours,  for 
which  he  received  the  fifteen  cents  already  men- 
tioned as  part  of  his  assets.  Then  he  hurried 
home,  and  after  eating  his  simple  meal  he  went 
to  Gilbert's  for  his  books. 

In  the  months  that  these  boys  had  become 
friends,  Gilbert  had  often  invited  Sandy  to  his 
home,  but  a  certain  diffidence  had  caused  the  older 
boy  always  to  offer  some  excuse  for  staying  away. 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER     IOI 

The  size  of  the  house,  and  the  general  air  of  ma- 
terial superiority  on  the  part  of  Gilbert's  family, 
were  largely  responsible  for  this  shyness. 

Sandy  had  hoped,  as  he  approached  Colonel 
Franklin's  residence,  that  Gilbert  would  be  under 
the  trees  in  the  yard,  or  out  in  the  front,  but  he 
was  disappointed.  He  stood  hesitating  for  some 
time,  and  watched  the  dwelling  until  he  saw  the 
lights  shining  brightly  through  the  parlor  win- 
dows. 

Finally  he  concluded  to  go  around  by  the 
kitchen,  hoping  to  meet  a  servant,  who  would 
get  his  books  and  allow  him  to  leave  unnoticed. 
He  walked  slowly  up  the  path  that  was  hidden 
in  the  shadow  of  tall  trees.  As  he  neared  the 
house,  his  attention  was  arrested  by  the  sounds 
of  music  from  within.  Piano  and  violin  were  in 
duet,  and  as  he  leaned  against  a  tree,  the  clear 
soft  tones  of  the  violin  sang  out  Schumann's  ex- 
quisite Trdumerei. 

"That  sounds  jest  like  Heaven,"  he  murmured, 
and,  creeping  'toward  the  window,  he  made  an  ef- 
fort to  see  who  the  players  were. 

It  was  too  far  from  the  ground  to  peer  in,  so 
softly  he  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  trees. 
Then,  as  if  by  inspiration,  he  climbed  a  maple 


102  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

directly  in  front  of  the  parlor,  and,  sitting  astride 
one  of  its  boughs,  full  fifteen  feet  above  the 
ground,  he  leaned  against  the  trunk,  and  looked 
into  the  window  below. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned !  The  little  codger  never 
told  me  he  could  play  the  fiddle!"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  saw  Gilbert  with  a  violin,  playing  for  the 
pleasure  of  his  family. 

The  Spring  Song,  followed  by  Consolation 
from  Mendelssohn's  Songs  Without  Words, 
floated  out  into  the  velvety  June  night  and  held 
Sandy  fascinated  and  silent  under  the  spell  of 
melody. 

When  Gilbert  had  laid  aside  his  instrument,  he 
came  out  on  the  porch  with  his  father.  They 
seated  themselves  in  a  large  chair,  the  boy  nestling 
close,  pressing  his  cheek  against  the  parent's. 

"I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  Sandy 
to-day;  he  just  flew  away  after  school,"  said  the 
son,  as  if  the  older  boy  were  a  subject  of  para- 
mount interest  to  every  one  at  all  times. 

"Perhaps  he  had  some  errand  for  his  mother," 
suggested  the  father  tritely. 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  was  that.  He  was  talk- 
ing about  the  river,  and  I  believe  that  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it." 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER     103 

"Maybe  it  had ;  who  can  tell  ?"  said  the  father, 
with  commonplace  attention. 

"He  told  me  though,  if  I  didn't  ask  him  any 
questions  he  would  tell  me  no  lies,  and  maybe  he 
might  tell  me  to-night,  but  I'm  awfully  afraid  he 
won't  come." 

"Yes,  he  will,  little  codger,  fer  he's  here  now," 
came  a  voice  from  above,  much  to  the  surprise  of 
the  Franklins,  father  and  son. 

"Why,  Sandy,  is  that  you  up  there?"  asked 
Gilbert  joyously. 

"I've  been  up  here  a-list'nin'  to  yer  playin'  the 
fiddle,  an'  yer  come  out  afore  I  could  sneak  down. 
So  don't  think  I  wuz  eavesdroppin'." 

Sandy  lowered  himself  from  the  tree,  and  Gil- 
bert took  his  hand  and  pulled  the  bashful  boy 
toward  the  porch. 

Colonel  Franklin  gave  Sandy  a  cordial  invita- 
tion to  sit  down  and  feel  fully  at  home.  After 
much  demurring,  the  boy  took  a  place  on  the  top 
step  of  the  porch  where  he  was  joined  at  once  by 
Gilbert,  the  father  in  the  meantime  enjoying  his 
evening  smoke. 

"'Twuzn't  no  great  secret  I  had  on  my  mind 
this  afternoon,  Gil,  but  I  don't  like  ter  say  I'm 
going  ter  do  a  thing  unless  I  am  sure  I  kin  do  it." 


104  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"What  can't  you  do,  Sandy?" 

"That's  jest  it.  I  wuz  afeard  I  might  not  be 
able  to  build  a  jumper,  an'  I  didn't  know  exactly 
what  'twould  cost,  so  afore  I  would  tell  you  any- 
thin'  about  it,  I  asked  the  Jedge  fust." 

"And  what  did  the  Jedge  say  ?"  asked  Gilbert, 
greatly  interested. 

"It  can  be  done  fust-rate  fer  eight  dollars,  an 
he's  goin'  to  help  me."  Then  Sandy  unfolded  his 
plans.  Gilbert  offered  to  pay  half  the  cost,  but 
Sandy  would  not  agree. 

"I  wants  to  own  ev'ry  nail  in  her,  from  top-mas' 
to  keel,  from  stem  to  gudjin.  I  wants  to  enj'y 
myself  invitin'  yer  to  sail  in  her,  Gil,  an'  I  can't 
if  ye're  half-boss." 

"I'll  lend  you  the  money,"  persisted  the 
younger. 

"Not  muchee,  little  codger.  I'm  a-goin'  to  git 
it  by  the  sweat  o'  my  brow,  ketchin'  fish." 

"But  it  will  take  some  time  to  catch  and  sell 
eight  dollars'  worth." 

"I  knows,  but  the  Jedge  is  goin'  to  ask  Mr. 
Jebb  to  buy  what  I  ketch,  an'  that'll  help  along." 

"Fish  is  mighty  good  food,"  said  Gilbert,  his 
face  brightening  with  a  sudden  idea,  "and  I  be- 
lieve people  should  eat  more  of  it  than  they  do. 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER     105 

Everybody  should  eat  fish,  at  least  twice  a  day; 
don't  you  think  so,  father?"  asked  the  little  fel- 
low. 

"Medical  men  say  much  in  favor  of  the  bene- 
ficial effects  of  a  fish  diet.  No  doubt  there  is 
truth  in  this,"  spoke  the  father. 

"I'm  sure  there  is,  and  I'm  going  to  study  up 
on  it  right  away,"  added  the  young  son. 

While  the  two  boys  sat  talking  of  the  boat,  Gil- 
bert's little  sister  came  out  to  bid  father  and 
brother  good  night.  Gilbert,  calling  her  over, 
said: 

"Lily,  this  is  Sandy  Goggles,  my  Sandy." 

"Yes,  I  know  Sandy,"  she  exclaimed  joyfully. 
"Gil  told  me  all  about  you,  lots  and  lots  of  times. 
You  aren't  afraid  of  anything,  ghosts,  or  pirates, 
or  demons,  or  burglars,  or  anybody  else,  even  if 
you've  got  one  hand  tied  behind  you." 

Sandy  remained  bashfully  dumb. 

"I  must  go  to  bed  now,  so  I'll  say  good  night," 
— and  lovingly  she  put  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  pressed  her  childish  lips  to  his  forehead. 
"That's  one  'cause  Gil  loves  you," — then  turning 
his  left  cheek  toward  her, — "that's  another  'cause 
I  love  Gil," — and  again  turning  his  head  so  as  to 
present  his  right  cheek, — "and  that's  one  for  good 


106  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

measure,  and  'cause  I  love  anybody  Gil  loves. 
Good  night." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  Sandy's  life  that  he  had 
been  kissed,  save  by  his  mother,  and  even  his 
freckles  grew  browner. 

The  child  and  father  went  into  the  house  leav- 
ing the  boys  alone  outside.  There  was  a  long 
silence,  while  they  both  lay  back-down  upon  the 
steps,  and  Sandy  finally  spoke. 

"Yer  never  told  me  yer  could  play  the  fiddle, 
little  codger,  an'  I  never  know'd  there  wuz  so 
much  music  in  one  till  I  heard  yer  play." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Gilbert  carelessly.  "I've 
played  the  violin  since  I  was  six.  You  know  I 
was  in  the  house  so  much,  it  seemed  just  the  thing 
to  do." 

"Yes,  an'  it  wuz  the  thing  to  do,  an'  I'm  glad 
yer  done  it.  My!  when  I  wuz  a-settin'  up  there 
list'nin'  I  jest  saw  Heaven.  I  never  knew  afore 
jest  what  Heaven  looked  like.  But  I  kind  er  saw 
it  plain,  'specially  when  yer  played  that  'ere  third 
piece.  What  der  yer  name  it?" 

"That  was  a  piece  by  Mendelssohn,  called  Con- 
solation." 

"Was  yer  teach'd  it?"  asked  the  other  ear- 
nestly. 


WHEN  THE  LORD  MADE  THE  RIVER     107 

"Oh,  not  exactly;  I  had  teachers  when  I  stud- 
ied, but  not  for  that  particular  piece." 

"Well,  I  felt  it  in  my  bones.  I  ain't  heerd 
nuthin'  like  that  in  a  'coon's  age,  no,  not  even 
afore  that.  It  sounded  too  good  to  be  teach'd." 

"That's  a  funny  idea,"  said  the  younger,  smil- 
ing at  Sandy's  enthusiasm,  "perhaps  you  never 
heard  as  fine  a  violin  as  mine." 

"Mebbe  not,"  said  Sandy,  "but  yer  fiddle  didn't 
play  by  itself." 

"No,  that  is  so,  but  my  violin  is  a  very  rare 
make,  and  I  love  to  play  on  it,"  earnestly  re- 
sponded Gilbert. 

"Is  it  better  than  any  other  fiddle?"  questioned 
Sandy,  still  doubting  the  power  of  the  instrument 
without  the  player's  skill. 

"My  father  says,"  answered  the  younger,  "vio- 
lins are  like  women.  The  one  you  love  is  the  best 
in  the  world ;  so  I  think  mine  is." 

"I'm  a-takin'  that  all  in,  little  codger,  but  I 
sticks  to  my  p'int  to  the  close;  fiddle  er  no  fiddle, 
if  the  angels  didn't  have  no  hand  in  the  playin'  o' 
that  'ere  piece,  then  I  sez  I've  got  no  license  to 
go  to  bed  in  the  dark." 

He  walked  slowly  down  the  path,  stopped  a 
few  times  and  looked  back.  Gilbert  was  still  sit- 


108  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

ting  on  the  porch,  his  eyes  following  the  retreat- 
ing figure  of  his  friend. 

Suddenly  Sandy  stopped  and  retraced  his  steps. 

"I  came  near  forgittin'  what  I  was  goin'  to  say, 
Gi.l.  I  told  yer  I  wuz  a-goin'  to  build  a  boat,  an* 
how  I  was  a-goin'  to  git  the  money  by  sellin' 
fish,  but  I  didn't  tell  yer  I  was  goin'  to  call  her 
the  Lillian,  jest  like  yer  little  sister." 

And  he  was  off. 


CHAPTER  VII 
MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING 

"It  beats  all  how  that  boy  hates  to  get  up," — 
and  Mrs.  Foley  called  for  the  tenth  time.  "Are 
you  up,  up  there?  I  do  believe  boys  are  like 
those  other  reptiles  and  would  sleep  six  months 
runnin',  if  you'd  let  'em."  She  stood  with  broom 
raised  in  the  air,  about  to  descend  on  the  cup- 
board, then  with  a  stroke  of  it  against  the  door 
she  called  again: 

"Thomas,  are  you  up,  up  there?" 

A  mumbling  sound  from  above  and  all  was 
still  again. 

"You  imp  of  darkness !  I  have  to  drive  you  to 
bed  every  night,  and  I  have  to  drive  you  out  of 
bed  in  the  mornin',  and  it's  nothing  but  drive, 
drive,  drive.  Here  it's  nearly  six  o'clock,  there's 
not  a  drop  of  water  in  the  rain-barrel,  and  I've 
got  three  washin's  to  do,  to  say  nothin'  of  Sukey 
Bell  a-comin'  here  to-morrer  to  help  iron.  Get 
up;  do  you  hear  me?" 

Another  mumbling  was  heard  from  above. 
109 


HO  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Thomas  Foley,"  called  his  mother  again,  "do 
you  hear  me  callin',  or  shall  I  come  up  and  make 
you  hear?" 

"What's  the  matter,  d'yer  want  ter  wake  the 
dead  ?"  snarled  a  voice  from  up  stairs.  "I  heerd 
yer  callin'  an'  answered  yer." 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  louder,  and  not  let  me 
wear  myself  out  a-hollerin'  at  you?"  shouted  the 
mother. 

"  'Tain't  no  fault  o'  mine  if  yer  can't  hear;  bet- 
ter git  er  ear-trumpet." 

"Are — you — up,  Thomas?"  called  back  the 
irate  Mrs.  Foley. 

"Old  Nick  hisself  couldn't  sleep  when  you're 
round  bellerin'  like  all  out-doors  from  mornin'  to 
night  down  there,"  answered  the  boy,  sitting  up 
in  bed  and  shaking  the  shuck  mattresses  vigor- 
ously. 

"Hurry  up  down.  I  want  you  to  fill  the  rain- 
barrel,  it's  getting  after  six."  Then  in  softer, 
and  more  entreating  tones,  "Hurry  up  down, 
that's  a  good  boy." 

"I'll  be  down  directly,  mother  dear,"  came  in 
perfect  imitation  of  the  inflections  of  his  parent's 
voice,  and  the  young  rascal  dropped  again  on  the 
bed,  and,  turning  so  carefully  that  not  the  faintest 


MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  1 1 1 

rustle  was  heard,  curled  up  snugly  and  closed  his 
eyes.  His  brain  dozed  and  his  body  rested,  but 
his  ear  was  on  the  alert. 

"She's  cleanin'  up  the  kitchen,"  said  the  ear, 
"an'  sweepin'  the  dirt  inter  the  gutter.  She's 
list'nin'  to  Nellie  Pendleton's  mocking-bird 
whistlin'  fer  the  doctor's  dog  that's  runnin'  up 
and  down  the  street  lookin'  fer  his  master." 

The  auricular  picket  reported  the  mother's  re- 
turn to  the  house  and  her  determined  strides  as 
she  approached  the  stairs  leading  to  the  bedroom. 

"Tom  Foley,  I'll  give  you  jest  two  minits  to 
get  down  stairs,  or  I'll  skin  you  alive." 

The  boy  jumped  from  the  bed,  made  a  dash  for 
his  clothes  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  hastily 
dressed.  Then  calling,  "Don't  fash  yerself,  I'm 
puttin'  on  my  duds  as  fast  as  I  kin,"  he  shortly 
appeared  at  the  landing.  "Fooled  yer  that  time, 
didn't  I?  Spec'  yer  thought  I  wuz  in  bed 
a-snoozin',  when  I  was  makin'  my  twilight  an' 
jest  dyin'  to  see  yer." 

"Now  do  hurry,  Tom,  and  fetch  the  water," 
requested  Mrs.  Foley  coaxingly,  making  at  the 
same  time  a  vain  effort  to  smooth  the  rumpled 
collar  on  her  son's  shirt. 

"Yer  ain't  goin'  to  make  me  work  like  a  nigger 


1 1 2  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

afore  I've  had  my  grub,  are  yer?"  whimpered 
the  boy. 

"Jest  run  and  get  me  a  pail  of  water,  and  I'll 
have  your  breakfast  ready  when  you  get  back," 
soothingly  said  the  mother,  preparing  a  place  at 
the  table  for  Tom. 

"I  won't  get  no  water  till  I'm  fed.  My  stom- 
ach feels  like  my  throat's  cut.  I  want  er  eat  fust." 

"I  never  did  starve  you,  Tom,  and  if  I  give  you 
both  molasses  and  butter  for  your  bread,  some 
honey,  fried  eggs,  cold  meat  and  hot  coffee,  will 
you  promise  to  carry  the  water  and  won't  run 
away  like  you  did  yesterday  ?" 

"Gimme  my  grub  fust,  I  ain't  goin'  to  promise 
nuthin'  while  I'm  starvin'." 

The  mother  placed  the  food  before  her  boy  and 
he  ate  voraciously.  After  he  had  devoured  every- 
thing on  the  table,  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the 
door  leading  to  the  street.  When  he  was  well 
without,  he  called  to  his  mother:  "Eh,  old 
woman,  carry  yer  own  water;  over  the  river, 
ta-ta !"  and  away  he  went  as  fast  as  his  miserable 
legs  could  carry  him. 

Mrs.  Foley,  standing  in  the  doorway,  heard  his 
parting  shot,  and  stood  motionless  in  a  stare  as  he 
scampered  away. 


MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  113 

"What  will  become  of  him?  'Tain't  no  use 
tryin'  kindness,  he's  too  ornery  to  appreciate  it. 
It's  the  sins  of  the  father  visitin'  the  child,  and 
God  knows,  he's  gettin'  more  and  more  like  Den- 
'  nis  Foley  every  day."  Sadly,  and  with  just  the 
suspicion  of  a  tear,  she  picked  up  the  water- 
buckets  and  started  for  the  pump. 

Sandy  and  Titcomb  were  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion as  Mrs.  Foley  drew  near.  The  grocer  left 
the  other  and  walked  toward  the  widow. 

"A  very  beautiful  morning,  Mrs.  Foley,"  he 
began. 

"I  hope  it  is  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  Mr. 
Jebb;  it's  anything  but  beautiful  to  me." 

"I  sincerely  trust  your  health  is  good," — this 
with  great  solicitude. 

"  'Tain't  no  bodily  ailment,  Mr.  Jebb;  it's  that 
boy  of  mine.  He  no  sooner  stuffs  himself  than 
he  lights  out,  and  lets  me  fetch  water  and  work 
like  a  heathen  Turk." 

"Allow  me  to  fill  the  buckets  for  you," — offer- 
ing to  take  them  from  her. 

"Oh,  law,  no  indeed,  Mr.  Jebb!  If  it  was  jest 
one  pailful  I  wouldn't  mind,  but  I  can't  let  you 
work  for  me."  She  moved  toward  the  pump. 

Titcomb  gently  took  the  pails,  saying,  "Mrs. 


114  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Foley,  if  you'll  watch  the  store  Sandy  and  I  will 
fill  the  barrels  for  you." 

When  the  man  and  boy  were  beyond  earshot, 
Jebb  said :  "Sandy,  I've  promised  to  buy  all  the 
fish  you  catch,  at  five  cents  a  dozen." 

"That's  what  I  understan',"  answered  the 
youth. 

"Now,  Sandy,  if  you  will  fill  Mrs.  Foley's  rain- 
barrels  every  day  I'll  give  you  ten  cents  a  dozen 
for  all  you  bring  me.  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Jest  watch  me  an'  see  if  it  ain't  a  bargain," 
Sandy  quickly  replied. 

"Remember  though,  on  your  honor,  not  a  word 
to  the  widow,  except  that  you  are  anxious  to 
carry  the  water." 

"I'll  'tend  to  that,  Mr.  Jebb,  don't  fear,"— and 
Sandy  winked  knowingly. 

When  they  returned  with  the  water,  Mrs. 
Foley  had  seated  herself  in  a  chair  fashioned  from 
an  old  flour-barrel.  The  boy,  still  holding  the 
buckets,  said: 

"Mrs.  Foley,  I've  jest  been  itchin'  to  carry 
water  for  anybody  as  would  let  me.  Yer  see, 
down  at  my  house,  the  landlord,  he  built  an  arte- 
sian well  by  the  kitchen  an'  the  pump  nozzle  comes 
right  in  the  door,  an'  I  don't  git  no  more  exer- 


MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  1 1 5 

cise,  'cause  the  water  runs  by  itself.  If  yer  don't 
really  mind,  I'll  be  much  obliged  if  yer'll  let  me 
fill  yer  rain-barrels  every  day." 

"Oh,  Sandy,"  said  Mrs.  Foley,  "I  don't  know 
whether  I  ought  to  let  you,  when  I  have  a  good- 
for-nothing  boy  that  ought  to  do  it  for  me." 

"Mebbe  Tom's  got  the  spring  fever,  an'  it's 
struck  in.  I  jest  escaped  it  by  the  skin  o'  my 
teeth,  a-sweatin'  it  off  choppin'  kindlin's  an'  that. 
Why,  I'm  jest  itchin'  to  fill  yer  rain-barrels." 

"Well,  as  you  want  to  so  badly,  I'll  let  you,  and 
thank  you  for  your  kindness." 

"Yer  jest  set  down  an'  talk  to  Mr.  Jebb,  an' 
watch  me  enj'y  myself."  Off  went  Sandy,  swing- 
ing the  buckets  in  circles  about  his  head. 

"What  a  blessing  a  boy  like  Sandy  is!"  said 
the  grocer,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  pump. 

"Just  one  in  a  million;  no  monkey-shines; 
'tends  to  business  strictly.  Sandy  is  a  prize  pack- 
age in  a  pile  of  blanks,"  replied  Mrs.  Foley. 

"I  believe  he  will  make  a  fine  man,"  added  the 
grocer. 

"Mebbe,  if  he  don't  get  sp'iled  in  the  makin'," 

"But  why  should  he?"  asked  Titcomb. 

"Mr.  Jebb,  boys  grow  into  very  foxy  men 
sometimes.  There  was  my  man,  Dennis  Foley. 


Il6  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

It  seemed  as  though  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his 
mouth  when  he  was  courtin'  me." 

"Those  must  have  been  happy  days,"  half- 
whispered  the  grocer  sentimentally. 

"I  thought  so,  then,"  wearily  spoke  the  other. 
"Dennis  chased  and  chased  and  chased  me  for 
months,  afore  I  married  him,  and  then, — I  had  to 
do  the  chasin'." 

"All  men  are  not  so  changeable,  Mrs.  Foley." 

"Mebbe  not  all,  but  they're  a  mighty  foxy 
crowd,  as  a  rule,  and  I  have  no  confidence  in  'em." 

"Oh,  well,  perhaps  some  day  your  views  will 
change." 

"I  ain't  seein'  how  they  will,"  mechanically  re- 
plied the  widow. 

"How  do  you  know  but,  sometime,  somebody 
will  come  knocking  at  your  door?" 

"And  you  bet  I'll  be  out,"  laughingly  said  Mrs. 
Foley. 

"Do  you  like  poetry?"  tenderly  inquired  Tit- 
comb,  remembering  the  Jedge's  injunction. 

"Po'try?  Po'try?  That  was  Dennis'  strong 
suit.  Afore  we  were  married  he  used  to  write  on 
every  piece  of  paper  he  came  across,  'If  you  love 
me  as  I  love  you,  no  knife  can  cut  our  love  in 
two ;'  but  after  we  settled  down,  he  was  shoutin', 


MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  117 

'We  won't  go  home  till  mornin'/  and  he  never  did, 
unless  he  was  carried.  Thank  you,  but  no  po'try 
in  mine." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  life  is  hopeless  without  poetry," 
earnestly  remonstrated  the  grocer. 

"Fiddlesticks,  Mr.  Jebb !  po'try  don't  go  with  a 
hard  day's  washin'.  Poor  folks  like  me  don't 
have  time  for  such  foolishness," — and  she 
snapped  her  fingers  scornfully. 

"You  should  find  time." 

"When?"  she  asked. 

"Now — any  time.  Every  minute  counts  in  this 
world.  Sandy  is  bringing  water;  you  can't  do 
your  washing  until  the  barrels  are  full ;  what  bet- 
ter could  you  do  than  hear  a  few  lines  of  my 
poetry?" 

"Your  po'try?"  exclaimed  the  widow  in  amaze- 
ment. "That's  a  horse  of  another  color,  Mr. 
Jebb.  I  was  afraid  you  meant  the  'no-knife-can- 
cut-our-love-in-two'  kind,  but  your  po'try,  that's 
all  right.  The  one  about  granulated  sugar  is 
mighty  good ;  Sukey  Bell  sings  it  to  a  nice  chune 
when  she  sprinkles  the  clothes." 

"What  I'm  about  to  read  to  you  is  a  poem  en- 
titled Juno.  It  is  a  secret  avowal — as  it  were — 
so  to  speak — I  might  say — of  a  lonely  heart  to  a 


Il8  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

fair  lady."    Clearing  his  throat,  Titcomb  read : 

"When  the  jacksnipe  leaves  the  marsh, 
And  the  robin  seeks  its  nest, 
When  the  nightingale 
Spreads  out  his  tail, 
And  scoots  for  the  Golden  West ; 
My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 
'Way  down  by  the  trysting  tree. 

My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 

Wherever  you  may  be, 

In  trouble  dire, 

Or  house  on  fire, 

My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee." 

"I  do  declare,  Mr.  Jebb,  that  just  makes  me 
feel  goose-fleshy  all  over."  Then  watching 
Sandy:  "I  really  b'lieve  that  boy  will  run  that 
pump  dry  afore  he  fills  the  barrels.  Excuse  me 
interrupting  I  ain't  used  to  po'try  like  that." 

Mr.  Jebb  went  on : 

"When  the  tomtit  tunes  his  pipe, 
And  the  clock  strikes  half-past  eight, 
Oh,  why ;  oh,  why, 
Do  I  sadly  sigh, 

And  say,  though  it's  getting  late, 
My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 
'Way  down  by  the  trysting  tree? 

My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 
Wherever  you  may  be, 
Though  it  may  be  wet, 
You  need  not  fret, 
My  love,  I  will  come  tojthee." 


MR.  JEBB'S  WOOING  119 

"That's  mighty  spunky,  and  I  like  spunky  peo- 
ple," said  the  listener.  "  'Tain't  every  fellow 
would  do  that,  leastwise,  if  he  didn't  have  an  um- 
brella and  gums," — and  she  again  looked  toward 
the  pump.  "I  do  believe  Sandy  will  wear  himself 
out  fillin'  that  barrel.  Pardon  my  lack  of  parlor 
manners  and  a-continually  interruptin'  you,  Mr. 
Jebb.  Please  go  on  with  the  story;  it's  awfully 
interestin'." 

"This  is  the  last  verse  with  the  refrain," — and 
Titcomb  stood  up. 

"When  the  turtle-dovelets  coo, 
This  vow  I  humbly  make ; 
Noon  or  night, 
Dark  or  light, 

Tired,  hungry,  asleep,  awake, 
My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 
'Way  down  by  the  trysting  tree. 

My  love,  I  will  come  to  thee, 

Though  you  live  beyond  the  sea, 

And  the  whale  may  wail, 

And  the  hail  may  hail, 

But,  my  love,  I  will  come  to  thee." 

"It's  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Foley,  "it's  all  so 
nacherel ;  you  can  see  him  all  the  time.  And  what 
did  you  say  was  the  lady's  name?" 

"Juno,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  Juno  ought  to  feel  as  happy  as  a  clam 


120  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

at  high  tide,"  said  Mrs.  Foley.  "I  would  if  I 
was  Juno/* 

"Would  you?"  said  Jebb  quickly  and  with  un- 
reserved enthusiasm. 

"Yes,  I  would,  if  I  hadn't  no  encumbrance,  and 
— Sandy — Sandy,  law,  boy,  how  much  water 
have  you  took  to  the  house?  It  ain't  no  steam- 
boat." 

Sandy  came,  stood  beside  the  widow,  and 
spoke:  "I've  filled  the  barrils,  an'  set  the  b'iler 
on  the  stove.  Yer  bluin'  tank  is  full,  chock-a- 
block,  an'  yer  scrubbin'  tub's  runnin'  over,  an'  I 
thank  yer,  Mrs.  Foley,  cordial  fer  lettin'  me  carry 
the  water." 

The  widow  looked  at  the  two  fully  half  a  min- 
ute. Man  and  boy  stared  into  vacancy  and  moved 
with  a  suggestion  of  fidgets. 

"It  beats  me,"  she  said  slowly. 

Titcomb  and  Sandy  watched  her  as  she  walked 
to  her  house. 

And  thus  ended  the  first  chapter  of  Jebb's  woo- 
ing. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES 

"Boys!"  Miss  Latham  stood  behind  the  desk 
and  cast  a  benign  look  over  her  pupHs.  Books 
were  closed,  whispering  ceased,  and  the  school 
awaited  the  teacher's  further  remarks. 

"I  desire  to  state  that  the  scholastic  year  closes 
on  Friday  next.  It  has  been  a  year  fraught  with 
interest,  and  I  trust  its  manifold  opportunities 
have  not  been  lost  on  any  one  of  you.  I  am  about 
to  prepare  the  program  for  our  final  exercises  on 
Monday,  and  I  wish  to  ask  what  scholars  are  pre- 
pared to  volunteer  numbers  for  the  occasion." 

A  long  silence  ensued,  and  then  Sandy  raised 
his  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Sandy?" 

"Miss  Maisie,  I  wish  yer  would  ask  the  little 
feller  to  bring  his  fiddle  an'  play.  He  jest  beats 
anythin'  yer  ever  heerd  playin'." 

"What  do  you  say,  Gilbert?" 

"WThy,  Miss  Maisie,  if  you  would  really  like  it, 
I'll  bring  my  violin  with  pleasure," 


122  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"It  will  be  delightful,  and  I  thank  you;  also 
Sandy  for  the  suggestion."  Up  went  Sandy's 
hand  again. 

"Mebbe  the  little  codger'll  speak  that  piece, 
The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade.  I  heerd  him 
say  it  an'  it  sounded  like  it  really  happened.  Me 
an'  Dink  an'  Curley  heerd  him  say  it." 

"Gilbert,  may  we  presume  on  your  good  na- 
ture?" 

"Of  course,  Miss  Maisie,  if  you  care  to  have 
me  to  do  both." 

Sandy  patted  Gilbert  on  the  shoulder  approv- 
ingly, for  his  cheerful  willingness. 

Dink  next  attracted  the  attention  of  Miss  La- 
tham: "Well,  Elijah,  what  is  it?" 

"Please  ma'am,"  said  Elijah,  alias  Dink,  "Mr. 
Jebb  read  me  a  piece  of  po'try  an'  gimme  a  stick 
of  peppermint  fer  list'nin'  t'other  day,  an'  I  spec' 
he'll  do  it  ag'in  if  yer  ask  him." 

"A  good  suggestion,  Elijah;  I  will  see  him 
about  it  personally." 

"Lemme  go  an'  tell  him,"  volunteered  Dink,  as 
visions  of  more  candy  loomed  up  large  before 
him. 

"No,"  observed  the  teacher  thoughtfully,  "I 
think  perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  write 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  123 

a  note  and  invite  him  to  take  part  in  our  exer- 
cises." 

"That's  all  right,  ma'am,  if  he  brings  'nough 
knickknacks  fer  list'nin'.  I'm  powerful  fond  o' 
Mr.  Jebb's  po'try,  when  the  knickknacks  is 
thrown  in,  an'  that's  why  I'd  like  to  go  on  the 
errand  to  him." 

"I'll  allow  you  to  deliver  the  note  to  Mr.  Jebb." 

"That'll  do  most  as  good  as  if  I  tol'  him  to  his 
face,"  said  Dink  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"Now,  let  me  see,"  said  the  teacher,  drumming 
a  pencil  against  her  teeth.  "First,  we'll  have  a 
prayer  by  the  Reverend  Nathaniel  Mosher,  then 
a  song  by  the  class,  Oh,  How  I  Love  the  Merry, 
Merry  Sunshine;  next  a  recitation,  The  Charge 
of  the  Light  Brigade;  address  to  the  school  by 
Mr.  W.  B.  Parker;  violin  solo  by  Gilbert  Frank- 
lin; and  possibly  a  poem  by  Mr.  Jebb,  followed 
by  presentation  of  the  medal  and  premium  books, 
and  closing  with  the  benediction.  Just  before  the 
distribution  of  prizes  I  shall  make  a  few  remarks, 
and  that  will  be  sufficient  for  the  occasion.  Re- 
member, you  may  invite  your  relatives  and 
friends ;  the  hour  will  be  eleven  A.  M." 

Monday  came,  and  with  it  enough  visitors  to 
crowd  the  little  school-room.  The  Franklins, 


124  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Mrs.  Dabney  and  Zorah,  Mrs.  Foley,  Mrs.  Gog- 
gles and  Titcomb  Jebb  were  prominent  in  the 
gathering.  Near  the  door  stood  the  Jedge,  mak- 
ing himself  useful  by  directing  the  visitors  to 
their  seats,  and,  with  kindly  comments,  spreading 
a  spirit  of  good  humor. 

"These  'ere  occasions,"  he  was  saying  to  Doc- 
tor Mosher,  "are  chock  full  of  interest  to  them 
folks  that  feels  the  need  of  eddication.  Eddica- 
tion  an'  book-1'arnin'  are  all  right  when  yer  can't 
nacherly  git  the  heft  o'  things.  I  seen  a  pig  in  a 
circus  onct,  an'  he  could  play  cards  an'  drink 
whisky.  He  wuz  jest  eddicated  to  it.  Eddica- 
tion's  great.  I  believe  in  the  young  idea  1'arnin' 
to  shoot,  even  if  it  don't  hit  nuthin'." 

The  exercises  opened  with  prayer.  Gilbert's 
recitation  was  a  great  success,  and  his  violin  solo 
met  with  storms  of  applause.  As  it  died  away, 
Mr.  Jebb  walked  to  the  platform,  took  out  a  roll 
of  manuscript,  and  looked  over  the  assembled 
gathering  with  a  kindly  eye  and  cordial  air.  He 
spoke: 

"Miss  Latham,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  boys  and 
girls,  and  all  others :  You  will  perceive  on  perus- 
ing the  order  of  exercises  for  this  most  important 
day,  that  my  name  is  down  for  an  original  poem, 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  125 

written  expressly  for  the  occasion.     This  way- 
ward thought  I  have  entitled,  The  Feast  of  the 
Monkeys." 
Jebb  read  slowly  and  distinctly : 

THE   FEAST   OF   THE   MONKEYS 

In  days  of  old, 

So  I've  been  told, 

The  monkeys  gave  a  feast. 

They  sent  out  cards, 

With  kind  regards, 

To  every  bird  and  beast. 

The  guests  came  dressed, 

In  fashion's  best, 

Unmindful  of  expense ; 

Except  the  whale, 

Whose  swallowtail, 

Was  "  soaked  "  for  fifty  cents. 

The  guests  checked  wraps, 

Canes,  hats  and  caps ; 

And  when  that  task  was  done, 

The  footman  he 

With  dignitee, 

Announced  them  one  by  one. 

In  Monkey  Hall, 

The  host  met  all, 

And  hoped  they'd  feel  at  ease, 
"  I  scarcely  can," 

Said  the  Black  and  Tan, 
"I'm  busy  hunting  fleas." 

"  While  waiting  for 
A  score  or  more 
Of  guests,"  the  hostess  said, 


126  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"We'll  have  the  Poodle 

Sing  Yankee  Doodle, 

A-standing  on  his  head. 

And  when  this  through, 

Good  Parrot,  you, 

Please  show  them  how  you  swear.* 
"Oh,  dear;  don't  cuss," 

Cried  the  Octopus, 

And  he  walked  off  on  his  ear. 

The  Orang-Outang 
A  sea-song  sang, 
About  a  Chimpanzee 
Who  went  abroad, 
In  a  drinking  gourd, 
To  the  coast  of  Barberee. 
Where  he  heard  one  night, 
When  the  moon  shone  bright, 
A  school  of  mermaids  pick 
Chromatic  scales 
From  off  their  tails, 
And  did  it  mighty  slick. 

"All  guests  are  here, 
To  eat  the  cheer, 
And  dinner's  served,  my  Lord." 
The  butler  bowed ; 
And  then  the  crowd 
Rushed  in  with  one  accord. 
The  fiddler-crab 
Came  in  a  cab, 
And  played  a  piece  in  C ; 
While  on  his  horn, 
The  Unicorn 
Blew,  You'll  Remember  Me. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  127 

"  To  give  a  touch 

Of  early  Dutch 

To  this  great  feast  of  feasts, 

I'll  drink  ten  drops 

Of  Holland's  schnapps," 

Spoke  out  the  King  of  Beasts. 
"  That  must  taste  fine," 

Said  the  Porcupine, 
"  Did  you  see  him  smack  his  lip  ?" 
"  I'd  smack  mine,  too," 

Cried  the  Kangaroo, 
"  If  I  didn't  have  the  pip." 

The  Lion  stood, 
And  said:  "  Be  good 
Enough  to  look  this  way ; 
Court  Etiquette 
Do  not  forget, 
And  mark  well  what  I  say : 
My  royal  wish 
Is  ev'ry  dish 
Be  tasted  first  by  me." 
"  Here's  where  I  smile," 
Said  the  Crocodile, 
And  he  climbed  an  axle-tree. 

The  soup  was  brought, 

And  quick  as  thought, 

The  Lion  ate  it  all. 
"You  can't  beat  that," 

Exclaimed  the  Cat, 
"For  monumental  gall." 
"  The  soup,"  all  cried. 
"  Gone,"  Leo  replied, 
"  'Twas  just  a  bit  too  thick." 
"When  we  get  through," 

Remarked  the  Gnu, 
"I'll  hit  him  with  a  brick." 


128  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

The  Tiger  stepped, 
Or,  rather,  crept, 
Up  where  the  Lion  sat. 
"  O,  mighty  boss 
I'm  at  a  loss 
To  know  where  I  am  at. 
I  came  to-night 
With  appetite 
To  drink  and  also  eat; 
As  a  Tiger  grand, 
I  now  demand, 
I  get  there  with  both  feet" 

The  Lion  got 

All-fired  hot 

And  in  a  passion  flew. 

"  Get  out,"  he  cried, 

"  And  save  your  hide, 
You  most  offensive  You" 

"  I'm  not  afraid," 
The  Tiger  said, 

"  I  know  what  I'm  about" 
But  the  Lion's  paw 
Reached  the  Tiger's  jaw, 
And  he  was  good  and  out 

The  salt-sea  smell 

Of  Mackerel, 

Upon  the  air  arose ; 

Bach  hungry  guest 

Great  joy  expressed, 

And  "sniff!"  went  every  nose. 

With  glutton  look 

The  Lion  took 

The  spiced  and  sav'ry  dish. 

Without  a  pause 

He  worked  his  jaws, 

And  gobbled  all  the  fish. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  129 

Then  ate  the  roast, 

The  quail  on  toast, 

The  pork,  both  fat  and  lean; 

The  jam  and  lamb, 

The  potted  ham, 

And  drank  the  kerosene. 

He  raised  his  voice: 
"  Come,  all  rejoice, 

You've  seen  your  monarch  dine." 
"  Never  again," 

Clucked  the  Hen, 

And  all  sang  Old  Lang  Syne. 

Jebb  rolled  his  manuscript  carefully,  and  put  it 
back  into  his  pocket. 

"I  desire  to  state,  boys,  that  the  Jedge  will  hand 
each  of  you  a  package  of  knickknacks,  as  you  file 
out  after  the  exercises." 

"I  know'd  he  brung  some,"  whispered  Dink; 
"there  ain't  no  po'try  that  fits  in  with  knick- 
knacks  like  Mr.  Jebb's,  an'  I  wuz  anxious  all  the 
time  he  wuz  readin'  fer  fear  he  had  fergotten  'em. 
Jimmineddy,  I  wish  the  show  wuz  over  now  1" 

The  grocer's  announcement  met  with  vocifer- 
ous applause.  As  conclusion,  Miss  Latham  called 
the  names  of  those  pupils  fortunate  enough  to  re- 
ceive prizes. 

The  gold  medal  went  to  Gilbert  for  general  ex- 
cellence in  scholarship  and  deportment. 

"In  English  grammar  and  history,"  read  Miss 


130  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Latham  from  the  list,  "Master  James  Bray."  A 
large-headed,  undersized  boy  came  forward  to 
claim  his  book. 

"For  reading  and  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  Master  Sidney  Robinson."  A  nervous 
lad,  with  puffy  eyes,  walked  to  the  desk  and  ac- 
cepted eagerly  his  volume,  returning  hastily  to 
his  seat. 

"For  penmanship  and  spelling,  Master  Edward 
Grimes."  As  the  aforesaid  youngster  sought  his 
place,  he  scanned  with  eager  eyes  the  title  of  the 
book  that  had  been  handed  him. 

At  this  point,  Miss  Latham  stepped  forward, 
and  spoke  while  every  member  of  the  class  lis- 
tened with  breathless  attention. 

"Before  bestowing  the  last  premium,  a  few 
words  will  perhaps  not  be  amiss.  I  have  in  my 
class  one  whose  life  has  not  been  rich  in  the  op- 
portunities vouchsafed  most  boys.  His  father 
fought  in  the  war,  and  was  sacrificed  on  the  altar 
of  patriotism.  Up  to  within  a  year  this  lad  has 
helped  to  support  his  mother  by  selling  papers,  and 
turning  a  hand  to  any  other  honest  endeavor.  I 
take  extreme  pleasure  in  announcing  that  the 
prize  for  arithmetic  and  geography  is  awarded  to 
Master  Alexander  Goggles." 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  131 

Gilbert  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant  and 
jumped  for  sheer  joy. 

"Hurrah  for  Sandy!"  he  cried;  "come  on, 
boys,  three  cheers  for  Sandy  Goggles !" 

During  the  outburst  of  shouts  and  applause,  the 
fortunate  pupil  went  forward,  with  face  red  and 
perspiring,  and  received  his  prize  from  the  min- 
ister. 

"Yer  could  'a'  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather, 
I  wuz  so  flabbergasted,"  explained  Sandy,  as  he 
described  his  sensations,  "an'  I'd  never  have  got 
it,  little  codger,  if  you  hadn't  fust  show'd  me." 

The  benediction  was  spoken  and  the  audience 
slowly  dispersed. 

Sandy  good-naturedly  took  Gilbert's  violin  case 
out  of  his  hand,  and,  insisting  on  carrying  it, 
walked  ahead. 

Dark-eyed  Zorah,  finding  her  way  through  the 
crowd,  intercepted  Gilbert  and  asked  demurely, 
"Do  you  remember  me?" 

"Don't  I,  though?"  answered  the  little  fellow 
gallantly. 

"Teacher  hasn't  sent  me  home  once  since  I  saw 
you,"  volunteered  Zorah. 

"And  I  trust  she  never  will  again,"  added  the 
other. 


132  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I've  been  thinking  lots  about  you," — this  very 
archly. 

"Oh,  say  now" — began  Gilbert,  but  her  earnest- 
ness kept  back  the  banter  that  was  on  his  lips. 

"I  remember  what  you  said  about  gipsy  queens, 
about  their  hair,  their  eyes  and  their  skin.  Is 
there  anything  else  lovely  about  them  that  you 
can  think  of  ?" 

"Oh,  lots,  and  I'll  tell  you  volumes  sometime," 
said  the  boy. 

"But  I  do  want  to  hear  about  them  now," — and 
she  clasped  her  hands  in  supplication.  "Tell  me 
just  about  one  of  them,  where  she  lived  and  how 
she  got  married." 

"Some  day,  when  I  have  time,  I'll  tell  you 
about  a  beautiful  one." 

"How  old  was  she?"  interrupted  Zorah. 

"I  should  say  she  was  all  of  twelve," — this 
with  a  quizzical  and  half-amused  expression  on 
the  part  of  Gilbert. 

"That's  just  what  I  am,  all  of  twelve;  I  was 
twelve  last  May.  I  was  born  in  May,  you  know, 
on  the  fifth,  half-past  ten.  Mama  gave  me  a 
birthday  party,  and  Aunt  Harriet  baked  the  love- 
liest birthday  cake,  and  Mr.  Pigott,  he's  my  sis- 
ter Crissie's  steady  company — and  they're  going 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  133 

to  get  married  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  a  raise  in 
wages;  which  will  be  next  fall  if  all  signs  don't 
fail — and — what  was  I  saying?" 

"You  spoke  of  Mr.  Pigott." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  Mr.  Pigott  bought 
twelve  real  wax  candles,  and  we  stuck  them  all 
around  the  caket  one  for  each  year  since  I  was 
born,  and  after  supper  we  lit  them  and  they  looked 
beaut'ful.  And  Dink  blew  one  out  when  no  one 
was  looking,  and  bit  half  of  it  off  for  chewing 
gum.  When  Crissie  tried  to  take  it  away  from 
him,  he  swallowed  it,  wick  and  all.  Oh,  we  had 
a  dreadful  time  with  Dink  that  night.  He  had 
pains  all  over." 

The  voluble  maiden  stopped  short,  from  sheer 
exhaustion  of  lung  power. 

"My  story,"  continued  Gilbert,  "will  also  tell 
of  an  old  witch." 

"I  know,"  broke  in  the  irrepressible  Zorah, 
"witches  dance  ring-around-rosy,  and  say  'Double, 
double,  toil  and  trouble,  fire  burn,  cal'on 
bubble.'  Crissie  and  Mr.  Pigott  saw  them  at 
Shakespeare's,  and  the  next  night  they  turned 
down  the  parlor  lamp  and  showed  our  folks  just 
what  the  witches  did,  and  it  was  dreadful."  She 
rolled  her  eyes  dramatically. 


134  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Well,  the  old  witch  was  in  the  habit  of  mak- 
ing the  little  black-haired  maiden  get  up  early 
every  morning,  wash  her  face,  braid  her  hair, 
darn  her  stockings  and  sew  her  frock." 

"I  sewed  my  frock  when  I  was  only  five,"  ex- 
plained the  little  coquette,  with  an  air  of  superior- 
ity. "I  couldn't  put  it  on  afterward  because  I 
sewed  it  together.  Aunt  Harriet  had  to  rip  it, 
and  mama  was  so  mad  she  nearly  made  up  her 
mind  to  whip  me.  Wasn't  that  dreadful?" 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  suppressed  mischief, 
and,  clasping  her  hand  on  Gilbert's  arm,  she  whis- 
pered, "Please  go  on." 

"I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story ,"  volunteered 
the  boy,  "when  we  get  to  my  house.  Under  the 
trees  you  can  listen  and  I  can  remember  better." 

They  met  Sandy,  and  the  three  sat  under  a 
great  oak  in  the  grove  fronting  Colonel  Frank- 
lin's house.  Zorah  threw  herself  full  length  on 
the  grass,  and  said : 

"Please  go  on." 

Sandy  lay  with  his  arms  under  his  neck  and 
gazed  toward  the  heavens,  waiting.  Gilbert,  who 
had  read  his  favorite  stories  so  often  that  he  knew 
them  almost  word  for  word,  now  began: 


SANDY    GOT    UP    BEFORE   DAY    TO    GO    TO    THE    RIVER    TO    FISH 

Page  100 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  135 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE 
GIPSIES 

The  King  of  the  Gipsies  was  sitting  on  his 
throne  in  a  shaded  nook  of  the  woodland  dell.  He 
was  old  and  feeble,  and  knew  that,  in  a  few  years, 
at  the  most,  he  would  be  gathered  to  sleep  with 
those  who  had  reigned  before  him. 

He  summoned  a  page  and  commanded  him  to 
bid  his  son,  the  Heir  Apparent,  to  come  before  his 
royal  presence.  In  an  instant,  the  Prince  entered 
the  chamber,  bowing  low. 

"Sire,  what  may  be  your  pleasure?" 

He  spoke  reverently,  and  with  deep  filial  sym- 
pathy, as  he  beheld  his  aged  and  withered  royal 
parent. 

"My  son,  the  twilight  shadows  of  life's  horizon 
are  closing  in  upon  me,  and  'tis  but  meet  that  you 
should  prepare  to  assume  the  scepter  when  it  falls- 
from  my  grasp." 

"Sadly  and  sorrowfully  do  I  hear  you,  Sire,'* 
solemnly  said  the  Prince  Braveheart,  for  so  he 
was  named. 

"Harken  unto  my  voice,  oh,  my  son !  We  de- 
sire that  you  go  forth  into  the  great  world  and 
choose  the  one  who  is  to  be  your  wife  and  the 


136  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Queen  of  the  Gipsies,  when  I  have  passed  be- 
yond, and  you  are  King." 

"Most  lovable  father  and  gracious  sovereign,  I 
pray  that  you  may  continue  to  reign  for  many 
years  to  come,  but,  if  I  must  go  forth  and  find 
the  maid  who  is  to  be  my  helpmeet  and  my  Queen, 
I  pray  you,  what  must  her  virtues  be?"  And 
Prince  Braveheart  knelt  before  the  King. 

"By  the  laws  written  on  the  tablets  of  gold,  she 
who  is  to  be  the  Gipsy  Queen  must  possess  three 
charms  beyond  those  of  any  other  maid  in  all  the 
world — the  brightest  eyes,  the  blackest  hair,  and 
the  pearliest  teeth." 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  the  Prince,  kissing  his  father's 
proffered  hand,  and  at  the  same  moment  receiv- 
ing the  parental  blessing. 

"Go,  my  son." 

"I  will  find  her,  be  the  quest  never  so  difficult," 
— and  with  great  respect  and  ceremony  he  with- 
drew from  the  royal  presence. 

Prince  Braveheart  called  for  his  beautiful  black 
charger,  and  commanding  his  faithful  Yeoman 
and  his  equally  faithful  Bowman  to  follow,  he 
immediately  set  out  upon  his  journey.  The  party 
traveled  from  village  to  village,  from  town  to 
town,  from  city  to  city,  and  from  country  to  coun- 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  137 

try,  gazing  into  feminine  eyes,  scrutinizing  femi- 
nine ringlets,  examining  feminine  teeth,  but  all  to 
no  avail.  Again  and  again  their  hopes  were  raised 
high,  only  to  be  dashed  to  the  earth.  Eyes  would 
be  found  divinely  beautiful  in  one  maiden ;  hair  as 
black  as  night  in  another;  teeth  like  rows  of 
pearls  in  a  third,  but  never  was  a  maid  found  com- 
bining all  these  three  attributes.  Wearily  they 
wandered  on  and  on. 

One  afternoon,  the  Prince  with  his  Yeoman 
and  his  Bowman,  dust-stained  and  hungry,  sat 
beside  a  spring  eating  their  frugal  meal.  Just  as 
the  Prince  leaned  over  the  pool  of  sparkling  water 
to  fill  his  cup,  a  merry  peal  of  silvery  laughter 
awoke  the  silence. 

"By  my  halidom!"  he  cried,  almost  tumbling 
into  the  spring  from  excitement,  "but  that  is 
music  to  mine  ear!" 

"It  are  to  mine,"  said  the  Yeoman. 

"It  am  to  mine.,"  said  the  Bowman. 

At  which  the  observant  Prince  called  the  Yeo- 
man's attention  to  his  error  in  using  a  singular 
subject  with  a  plural  verb,  and  the  Bowman's  at- 
tention to  his  use  of  the  first  person  instead  of  the 
third. 

As  he  finished  this  criticism  there  bounded  into 


138  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

his  presence  a  beautiful  maiden,  who,  startled  at 
the  sight  of  strangers,  stopped  short  suddenly. 

"By  my  halidom!"  repeated  the  Prince,  "this 
is  a  rare  adventure."  And  he  assumed  a  deferen- 
tial attitude  before  the  maiden. 

Shyly,  but  with  a  trusting  heart,  she  allowed 
him  to  lead  her  to  a  rustic  bench  beside  the  spring. 

The  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman  kept  on  eating. 

"Fair  angel,"  rapturously  cried  the  Prince, 
"whence,  oh,  whence  came  those  beautiful  eyes?" 

"They  were  plucked  from  the  heavens  above, 
kind  sir,  where  nightly  they  twinkled,"  said  she 
demurely. 

"And  ah !"  exclaimed  the  Prince,  "your  hair  is 
as  black  as  the  raven's  wing." 

"I'm  told  a  little  blacker,  kind  sir," — and  she 
smiled  bewitchingly. 

"And  your  teeth,  radiant  one,  are  veritable 
pearls." 

"And  more  evenly  set  than  pearls  could  ever  be, 
dental  men  have  told  me."  She  spoke  with  a 
knowledgeable  air. 

"I  am  the  Prince  Braveheart,  beauteous  vision. 
I  love  you,  and  would  make  you  my  bride."  And 
he  knelt  before  her. 

The  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman  kept  on  eating. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  1 39 

"Good  sir,  mayhap  'tis  best  that  you  should  see 
my  grandmother  first,  for  she  is  the  arbiter  of  my 
love  affairs.  She's  a  very  experienced  person." 

"Your  grandmother!  and  where  might  she  be 
found?" 

"In  her  hut,  high  up  on  the  mountain  side,  just 
beyond  the  Glen  of  the  Four-Fanged  Wolf."  The 
maid  pointed  to  a  spot  at  the  end  of  a  winding 
road,  thousands  of  feet  above  them. 

The  Prince  arose  quickly  and  cried  to  his  serv- 
itors : 

"What  ho!" 

At  which  the  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman  got  up, 
brushed  the  crumbs  from  their  clothes,  lighted 
their  cigarettes,  and  led  forth  the  beautiful  black 
charger. 

"I  will  run  ahead  and  tell  grandmother  you  are 
coming." 

"Nay,  nay,  my  treasure,"  said  the  Prince,  in- 
tercepting her.  "Mount  you  upon  my  beautiful 
black  charger,  and  I  will  lead  him." 

Whereupon  the  little  sprite  was  placed  in  the 
saddle,  and  with  the  Prince  at  the  charger's  head, 
and  the  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman  bringing  up 
the  rear,  they  wended  their  way  up  the  lonely 
mountain  road. 


140  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

As  they  rode  on,  Millicentine,  which  was  the 
maiden's  name,  had  a  splendid  opportunity  to  ob- 
serve the  Prince.  He  was  tall,  with  fine  shoul- 
ders, and  not  stout.  His  hair  was  a  beautiful  red, 
and  his  face  was  dotted  with  delightful  little 
freckles  that  lent  charm  and  color  most  unusual. 

Millicentine  was  deeply  impressed,  and  before 
they  had  reached  her  grandmother's  cottage  she 
was  already  in  love  with  the  stranger. 

Her  grandmother  sat  dozing  in  the  sitting- 
room  and  did  not  hear  them  coming  up  the  steps. 
They  walked  in  without  knocking,  and  the  Prince, 
with  hat  pressed  to  his  heart,  said : 

"Madam,  I  am  the  Prince  Braveheart." 

The  Yeoman,  also  with  hat  pressed  to  his  heart, 
said: 

"Madam,  I  am  the  Yeoman  to  the  Prince 
Braveheart." 

Likewise  the  Bowman,  with  hat  pressed  to  his 
heart,  said: 

"Madam,  I  am  the  Bowman  to  the  Prince 
Braveheart." 

And  they  all  sat  down. 

Without  delay  the  Prince  came  to  the  subject 
of  his  mission,  and  in  fewest  words  made  known 
his  desire. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  141 

The  old  woman  was  not  a  grandmother  at  all, 
but  a  witch ;  a  reformed  one,  it  is  true,  but  still  a 
witch,  and  heartless  and  mercenary.  With  loll- 
ing head  and  closed  eyes,  she  listened  as  the 
Prince  pleaded  for  the  hand  of  Millicentine. 
When  he  had  finished,  she  said  in  piping  tones : 

"That  sounds  very  well  for  Millicentine,  but 
where  do  I  come  in?" 

Which  was  a  poser  for  every  one. 

The  Yeoman  looked  at  the  Bowman,  the  Bow- 
man looked  at  the  Prince,  and  the  Prince  looked 
at  Millicentine,  who  clasped  her  hands  and  held 
her  breath. 

"Upon  what  conditions  can  I  claim  her  as  my 
bride?"  asked  the  Prince  of  the  selfish  Witch. 

"Fetch  me,  within  a  year,  a  bag  of  California 
gold,  a  bag  of  Australian  gold,  and  the  pigeon- 
blood  ruby  that  hangs  from  the  neck  of  the  Toltec 
Queen/'  said  the  crafty  and  cold-blooded  old 
woman. 

"That  are  too  high,"  interposed  the  Yeoman. 

"That  am  exorbitant,"  protested  the  Bowman. 

Which  slips  of  speech  were  unnoticed  by  the 
Prince,  who,  drawing  his  trusty  sword,  cried: 

"I'll  away  at  once,  and  before  the  year  is  spent 
shall  return  to  claim  my  bride." 


142  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Gallantly  kissing  the  hand  of  the  lovely  Milli- 
centine,  and  bowing  low  to  the  ugly  old  Witch, 
with  his  Yeoman  and  his  Bowman  at  his  heels, 
the  Prince  started  in  search  of  the  required  treas- 
ure. 

On  they  wandered,  fighting  their  way  through 
hostile  countries,  suffering  endless  hardships,  yet 
ever  hopeful.  Ten  months  had  already  elapsed, 
and  at  last  they  came  to  the  royal  city  of  the  Tol- 
tecs.  The  carnival  was  at  its  height,  and  knightly 
jousts  were  held  before  the  King  and  his  Court. 

Three  rich  prizes  were  offered  as  rewards  to 
the  successful  competitors:  a  bag  of  California 
gold,  to  the  best  lancer ;  a  bag  of  Australian  gold 
to  the  best  swordsman ;  and  the  pigeon-blood  ruby 
worn  by  the  Toltec  Queen  to  the  best  horseman. 

And  Prince  Braveheart  was  victor  in  all  the 
contests. 

The  Prince,  with  the  ruby  placed  safely  in  a 
locket  next  to  his  heart,  the  Yeoman  with  the  bag 
of  California  gold,  and  the  Bowman  with  the  bag 
of  Australian  gold,  retraced  their  steps  joyously. 

During  all  these  months  Millicentine  was  hav- 
ing a  very,  very  hard  time  of  it.  As  the  days 
passed,  and  her  suitor  did  not  return,  the  alleged 
grandmother  grew  apprehensive,  and  feared  that 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  143 

the  Prince  had  failed  to  secure  the  gold  and  the 
ruby,  and  would  be  so  little  of  a  gentleman  as  to 
take  Millicentine  from  her  by  force. 

As  these  thoughts  grew  and  grew  within  her 
stony  heart,  all  the  mean  traits  in  her  character 
became  alive  again,  and  she  lapsed  into  her  orig- 
inal state  as  a  full-blown,  unblushing  Witch,  and 
was  really  worse  than  before  she  reformed. 

What  does  she  do  but  rush  down  to  the  wicked 
Hobgoblin,  who  lived  in  a  cavern  in  the  Glen  of 
the  Four-Fanged  Wolf,  and  confide  to  him  all  her 
fears. 

"Aha!"  he  exclaimed.  This  was  one  of  his 
customary  expressions,  and  usually  preceded  an 
equally  customary  remark,  made  sotto  voce:  "A 
bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush." 

And  forthwith,  poor  little  Millicentine  was 
chained  to  a  wall  in  the  Hobgoblin's  private 
prison. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  was  treated  thus, 
though  she  suspected,  but  hope  did  not  desert  her, 
even  when  she  heard  the  Hobgoblin  say  to  the 
Witch,  most  mysteriously: 

"Aha!  She's  better  in  fail  than  out  on  bail,  and 
dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

At  this  point  of  our  story,  which  was  the  last 


144  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

day  for  the  Prince's  return,  the  conditions  were 
as  follows: 

Millicentine  was  kept  a  prisoner  by  the  Hob- 
goblin. The  old  Witch  did  not  believe  the  Prince 
could  secure  the  treasure  she  had  demanded,  and 
therefore  she  would  not  listen  to  Millicentine's 
pleadings  to  be  released,  for  fear  she  might  run 
away  with  the  Prince,  even  though  he  returned 
empty-handed. 

The  Hobgoblin  was  lying  in  wait  for  the 
Prince,  the  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman,  for  he  had 
secret  advices  that  they  had  secured  the  treasure 
and  were  coming  that  very  day.  It  was  his  pur- 
pose to  kill  them,  claim  the  treasure,  marry  the 
girl,  and  snap  his  fingers  at  the  overreaching  old 
Witch,  and  he  went  about,  singing  low  in  a  minor 
key: 

"She's  better  in  jail  than  out  on  bail,  and  dead 
men  tell  no  tales." 

Millicentine  got  tired  of  hearing  the  miserable 
creature  croak  the  words  all  the  time.  They  got 
on  her  nerves,  and  she  said : 

"He  will  return  sometime  and  will  hear  your 
cackling,  and  then  you'll  sing  lower  still." 

But  the  Hobgoblin's  reply  always  was  the  very 
same. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  145 

"Aha!  She's  better  in  jail  than  out  on  bail,  and 
dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

Hours  wore  on.  Suddenly  a  solitary  horse- 
man was  seen  slowly  proceeding  in  the  direction 
of  the  Glen  of  the  Four-Fanged  Wolf. 

The  Hobgoblin  opened  a  peephole,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"Aha,  it  is  the  Yeoman  of  the  Prince,  and  he 
carries  the  bag  of  California  gold !" 

When  the  Yeoman  reached  the  bridge  of  the 
Ornithological  Lake,  which  turned  into  a  bird 
any  one  falling  into  it,  he  was  met  by  the  Hob- 
goblin with  profoundest  evidences  of  friendship. 

"Has  the  Prince  arrived  yet?"  inquired  the 
Yeoman,  looking  at  his  watch.  "I  note  that  he 
has  still  twenty-five  minutes  before  the  time  ex- 
pires." 

"Not  yet,"  chuckled  the  Hobgoblin. 

"We  agreed  to  meet  here  by  the  side  of  the 
lake,  and  titivate  a  bit  before  proceeding  to  the 
abode  of  the  fair  Millicentine." 

"And  you  have  the  gold?"  queried  the  Hob- 
goblin pointedly. 

"We  have,"  proudly  replied  the  Yeoman,  "and 
also  the  pigeon-blood  ruby  that  hung  from  the 
neck  of  the  Toltec  Queen.  Now,  while  waiting 


146  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

for  the  Prince  and  the  Bowman,  I  believe  I  will 
take  a  bath." 

"You  need  it,"  said  the  Hobgoblin,  making  a 
horrible  attempt  to  be  funny. 

Walking  to  the  center  of  the  bridge,  the  Yeo- 
man gazed  into  the  clear  water  below,  unsus- 
picious of  the  treachery  of  the  other,  who,  creep- 
ing up  from  behind,  suddenly  gave  him  a  shove, 
and  sent  him  several  fathoms  deep  into  the  lake. 

When  the  Yeoman  arose  to  the  surface  he  had 
been  changed  into  a  Whippoorwill,  and  plaintively 
calling  "Whippoorwill!  Whippoorwill!"  he  flew 
into  a  tree,  shaking  his  feathers  dry  and  shivering 
from  fright. 

As  the  transformed  Yeoman  saw  the  Hobgob- 
lin seize  the  bag  of  California  gold  and  enter  the 
house,  he  bemoaned  his  double  misfortune.  In  a 
moment  all  was  still,  then  the  clang  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  was  heard  on  the  road,  and  the  Bowman 
hove  in  sight.  He  dismounted  and  led  his  horse 
to  the  edge  of  the  lake  for  a  drink.  The  animal 
seemed  reluctant  to  approach.  So,  taking  hold 
of  the  reins  with  both  hands,  the  Bowman  be- 
gan to  pull,  but  the  harder  he  strove  the  more 
the  horse  resisted. 

Most  unexpectedly  the  Bowman  felt  a  terrific 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  147 

blow  on  his  knuckles,  and,  releasing  his  hands 
with  a  cry  of  pain,  he  tumbled  backward  into  the 
lake.  When  he  came  to  the  surface  it  was  ob- 
served that  he  was  now  a  Bob- White,  and  he  im- 
mediately flew  toward  the  forest.  The  Hobgob- 
lin, laughing  fiendishly,  picked  up  the  bag  of  Aus- 
tralian gold,  exclaiming: 

"Nothing  remains  now  but  to  gain  possession 
of  the  pigeon-blood  ruby  which  hung  from  the 
neck  of  the  Toltec  Queen,  and  which,  I  con- 
jecture, must  certainly  be  in  the  possession  of 
the  Prince." 

Even  as  the  Hobgoblin  spoke,  the  Prince  ap- 
peared at  the  cross-road  near  the  Glen  of  the 
Four-Fanged  Wolf.  The  sad  and  depressing 
notes  of  the  Whippoorwill  sounded  again  and 
again  in  his  ears,  and  were  answered  by  the  loud 
clear  tones  of  a  Bob- White. 

The  beautiful  black  charger  stopped,  distended 
his  nostrils  and  whinnied.  The  Whippoorwill 
flew  about  his  head,  calling  incessantly.  The 
charger  backed  and  turned  into  the  right-hand 
road,  and,  strive  as  he  might,  the  Prince  could 
not  swerve  him  in  the  direction  of  the  Glen  of  the 
Four-Fanged  Wolf. 

"Forward,  Sparkles!"  said  the  Prince,  touch- 


148  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

ing  the  charger  gently  with  his  golden  spurs,  but 
Sparkles  backed  in  alarm. 

Just  then  the  Bob- White  whistled  on  the  right- 
hand  road,  "Bob-white!  Bob-white!"  and  it 
seemed  to  say,  "This  way,  this  way." 

The  Hobgoblin,  who  was  watching  with  great 
interest  and  greater  anxiety,  when  he  saw  the 
charger  take  the  right-hand  road,  hissed: 

"Am  I  foiled  ?"  and  then  he  exultingly  added : 
"Not  if  I  know  it." 

And,  bounding  upon  the  back  of  the  Yeoman's 
horse,  he  rode  as  hard  as  he  could  to  intercept  the 
Prince  at  the  Span  of  the  Black-Hued  Demon. 
The  Hobgoblin  hid  back  of  a  huge  rock  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Span,  and  poised  his  lance,  pre- 
paring to  kill  the  unsuspecting  Prince  when  he  ap- 
proached. The  Whippoorwill  and  the  Bob- White 
were  keeping  up  a  terrific  clatter,  but  the  Prince's 
thoughts  were  of  Millicentine,  and  of  her  alone. 
Finally  Sparkles  refused  to  budge. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  the  Prince. 

At  which  his  beautiful  charger  pricked  up  his 
ears  and  whinnied  long  and  loud.  Immediately 
came  an  answering  call,  and  the  Yeoman's  steed, 
on  which  the  Hobgoblin  was  perched,  bounded 
into  the  road. 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  149 

And  there,  plainly  in  view  of  the  Prince,  sat 
the  Hobgoblin,  with  lance  upraised. 

"By  my  halidom !"  cried  the  Prince,  "this  is  a 
rare  adventure.  Guard  thyself,  miscreant!" — 
holding  his  lance  at  the  charge. 

"Aha!"  said  the  Hobgoblin. 

And  they  went  at  it. 

The  Whippoorwill  and  the  Bob- White  perched 
themselves  on  a  high  limb  and  watched  the  con- 
test with  great  interest. 

It  was  a  beautiful  fight,  but  when  it  ended  the 
Prince's  lance  was  sticking  right  through  the 
Hobgoblin,  who  was  unhorsed  and  faintly  strug- 
gling while  breathing  his  last. 

He  raised  himself  on  an  elbow,  and  beckoned 
the  Prince  to  draw  near.  The  Prince  knelt  by  the 
side  of  his  vanquished  opponent,  who  said: 

"In  my  pocket  there  is  a  golden  box — it  con- 
tains two  pellets — give  one  to  Bob — "  and  be- 
fore he  could  utter  another  word  he  dropped  over 
dead  and  was  done  for. 

The  Prince  secured  the  box,  while  the  Whip- 
poorwill and  Bob-White  flew  down  and  both 
perched  on  his  shoulders. 

When  he  raised  the  lid  of  the  golden-box  each 
of  the  birds  quickly  took  one  of  the  pellets,  and 


150  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

lo  and  behold,  they  were  turned  back  into  the 
Yeoman  and  the  Bowman,  much  to  their  relief. 
It  took  but  a  moment  or  two  for  them  to  tell  the 
Prince  where  Millicentine  was,  who  the  Witch 
was,  and,  in  fact,  everything  of  interest. 

Then,  drawing  their  trusty  swords,  the  Prince 
and  his  servitors  started  for  the  private  prison  of 
the  Hobgoblin  to  release  the  maid.  They  were 
met  by  a  battalion  of  goblins  and  gnomes,  and 
what  the  Prince  and  his  brave  servitors  didn't  do 
to  them  is  not  worth  recording.  When  they  had 
finally  put  out  of  business  the  last  goblin,  they 
had  reached  the  door  of  the  dungeon.  There  sat 
the  Witch.  They  demanded  admission;  she  re- 
fused. But  the  Yeoman  and  the  Bowman,  not 
having  the  patience  to  bandy  words,  each  grabbed 
her  by  an  arm,  and  saying :  "Old  lady,  you'd  bet- 
ter cool  off/'  pitched  her  into  the  lake. 

When  the  Witch  came  to  the  surface,  she  was 
the  most  miserable  looking  catbird  you  ever  saw, 
and  she  never  got  over  it. 

The  Prince  rushed  into  the  donjon  keep,  and 
freed  the  captive  maid. 

And  she,  on  a  beautiful  Kentucky-bred  horse, 
with  the  Prince  on  Sparkles,  and  the  Yeoman  and 
the  Bowman  on  their  palfreys,  bearing  the  bags 


THE  SCHOOL  EXERCISES  151 

of  gold,  all  proceeded  to  the  Gipsy  country  where 
Millicentine  became  the  bride  of  the  Prince,  and, 
eventually,  Queen  of  the  Romany  Rye. 
And  they  all  lived  happy  ever  after. 

"That's  an  awful  nice  story,"  said  Zorah. 

"Yer  don't  spec'  it's  real  true,  Gil?"  asked 
Sandy. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  vouch  for  it,"  replied  the  lit- 
tle fellow. 

Zorah  came  near  to  Gilbert,  and,  looking  in- 
tently at  Sandy,  whispered : 

"Don't  you  think  Prince  Braveheart's  hair  was 
a  little  too  red?" 

"It  might  have  been  had  the  Prince  been  a 
common  person,  but  he  was  brave  and  true,  and 
red  hair  is  very  becoming  to  people  who  are  brave 
and  true,"  said  Gilbert. 


CHAPTER   IX 

DOING  IT   BROWN 

Sandy  was  faithful  to  his  promise,  and  thus  one 
source  of  annoyance  was  spared  Mrs.  Foley.  The 
rain-barrels  were  always  full  and  the  drudgery  of 
wash-day  was  thereby  considerably  lessened. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,"  said  the  widow  to  Mr. 
Jebb,  "why  that  boy  loves  to  carry  water." 

"The  Jedge  says  Sandy  is  all  wool  and  a  yard 
wide,"  replied  Mr.  Jebb,  "and  loaded  to  the  gun- 
wales with  sympathy." 

"Sympathy  is  all  right,  Mr.  Jebb,  but  it  don't 
go  with  fillin'  rain-barrels.  There's  a  nigger  in 
the  wood-pile  somewhere." 

"Not  necessarily,  Mrs.  Foley."  The  grocer 
motioned  her  to  a  chair. 

"There's  that  Tom  of  mine,"  she  continued, 
"he  wouldn't  bring  a  drop  to  save  my  soul  unless 
I  coaxed  him  with  a  cowhide;  and  Sandy,  who 
ain't  no  kith  or  kin  of  mine,  rushes  round  afore 
light  and  brings  enough  water  to  float  the  navy, 
and  then  thanks  me,  if  you  please,  for  lettin'  him 
152 


DOING  IT  BROWN  153 

do  it.  'Tain't  in  a  boy's  nature  to  do  it  for 
nothin'." 

"Perhaps  he  feels  you  need  his  help,"  returned 
the  grocer. 

"Don't  yer  believe  that,  Mr.  Jebb.  If  that  boy 
ain't  been  put  up  to  do  it,  then  his  mother  ought 
to  send  him  to  a  doctor,  for  he's  surely  goin'  into 
a  decline.  Boys  don't  fill  rain-barrels  seven  times 
runnin'  jest  because  they  hanker  after  work.  The 
cat  will  come  out  of  the  bag  sooner  or  later,  and 
I  know  it."  Her  arms  akimbo,  she  looked  at 
him  quizzically,  when  he  discovered  suddenly  that 
the  counter  needed  dusting. 

"Oh,  shucks,  it's  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary," 
— and  he  smiled  inanely. 

"I'll  find  out;  he'll  blab  it,  see  if  he  don't!"— 
this  with  mock  severity.  As  she  walked  away 
Titcomb  watched  her,  his  heart  beating  faster. 

"She  is  a  Juno  and  no  mistake,"  he  soliloquized. 
"You  wouldn't  find  one  woman  in  a  day's  travel 
with  such  a  face  and  figure.  Those  blue  eyes  and 
that  black  hair  can't  be  beat  in  this  world."  He 
followed  her  with  his  gaze  until  she  disappeared. 

"Sandy,  Sandy,"  he  shouted,  as  he  saw  the  lad 
emerging  from  the  widow's  home. 

"Hello,"  responded  Sandy,  as  he  came  over. 


154  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"My  boy,"  said  Titcomb,  "let's  go  over  your 
account.  I  want  to  settle  for  the  fish." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Jebb;  I'm  ready."  Sandy  took 
a  small  note-book  from  his  pocket,  and  called  off 
the  items. 

"Yer  owes  me  fer  seventeen  catties,  thirty-four 
eels,  hundred  an'  ten  yaller  perch,  hundred  an' 
twenty-eight  white  perch,  twenty-eight  rock  an' 
sixteen  suckers,  which  makes  three  hundred  an' 
thirty-three,  or  twenty-seven  dozen  an'  nine.  At 
ten  cents  a  dozen  that  would  be  two  dollars  an' 
seventy-seven  cents,  which  I  believe  yer'll  find  cor- 
rect." He  handed  the  book  to  Titcomb. 

"That's  right,  and  here's  your  money."  The 
grocer  gave  the  amount  to  the  boy. 

"Gee,  Mr.  Jebb !  ain't  I  gittin'  rich  ?  Only  took 
me  a  week  an'  two  days  to  make  it,  an'  I  ketched 
most  all  of  'em  Saturday,  which  was  all  day." 

"Keep  right  on,  Sandy;  fill  the  widow's  rain- 
barrels  regularly,  and  I'll  buy  all  the  fish  you  can 
catch."  The  grocer  slapped  the  boy's  shoulder  ap- 
provingly. 

"That's  all  right  'bout  the  fish,  Mr.  Jebb,  but 
this  lyin'  to  the  widder  is  orful." 

"She  doesn't  suspect  anything,  does  she, 
Sandy?" 


DOING  IT  BROWN  155 

"She  axed  me  to-day  if  I  wuz  so  powerful 
fond  of  carryin'  water  as  I  pertended,  an'  I  sez  of 
course  I  wuz ;  then  she  sez,  'Cross  yer  heart,  if  ye 
are.'  I  sez  I  can't  do  that,  an'  she  sez  she  knew 
I  couldn't.  Then  she  'lowed  that  yer  wuz  payin' 
me  to  do  it,  an'  I  didn't  say  nuthin'.  She  ups  an' 
sez,  'If  Mr.  Jebb  ain't  payin'  yer  to  tote  water 
fer  me,  cross  yer  heart,'  an'  then  I  was  done  up. 
I  would  ax  yer  as  a  favor,  Mr.  Jebb,  to  do  yer 
own  lyin'  hereafter.  I  ain't  no  good  at  it !" 

"Was  she  very  mad,  Sandy?"  earnestly  in- 
quired the  grocer. 

"Not  muchee,  Mr.  Jebb;  she  wuz  most  tickled 
to  death  an'  give  me  a  big  lump  of  bread  with 
butter  an'  lots  o'  molasses.  She  puts  her  hand 
on  my  cocoanut  an'  sez,  soft-like :  'I  hope,  Sandy, 
yer  will  make  as  fine  a  man  as  somebody  I 
could  name.'  I  looked  into  her  pretty  face  an' 
squawked:  'Mrs.  Foley,  'tain't  many  that  can 
hope  to  ekal  Mr.  Jebb.'  'Go  'long,'  she  sez,  'I 
didn't  mention  Mr.  Jebb,'  an'  she  laughed  jest  like 
she  wuz  glad  I  sed  it." 

"Sandy,  Sandy,  you're  a  great  boy,  and  I  think 
twenty  cents  a  dozen  wouldn't  be  too  much  for 
your  fish." 

"Bully  fer  you,  Mr.  Jebb!    I  likes  to  say  jest 


156  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

here,  if  enny  fish  are  left  on  yer  hands,  why,  yer 
needn't  to  pay  me  fer  'em  if  yer  don't  wanter." 

"The  Lord  bless  your  honest  heart,  Sandy,  I 
could  sell  twice  as  many  if  I  had  'em." 

"That's  most  satisfyin',  Mr.  Jebb." 

"I've  never  seen  such  a  run  on  fish  before.  The 
day  after  I  agreed  to  take  all  you  caught,  a  letter 
signed  'Treblig,'  evidently  some  great  foreign  au- 
thority, appeared  in  the  Evening  Star,  in  which 
it  was  stated  that,  owing  to  the  great  amount  of 
phosphorus  in  fish,  it  is  the  most  beneficial  of  all 
foods  for  the  brain,  and  ever  since  everybody's 
rushing  up  for  fish.  Gilbert  Franklin  came  imme- 
diately with  their  cook  and  spoke  for  all  you 
caught.  On  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday, 
Friday,  and  twice  on  Saturday,  Delia  was  here  to 
get  them." 

"I  wonder  ef  the  little  codger  wrote  that  letter. 
I  know  he  bought  a  lot  o'  Stars  one  day  last  week. 
It's  jest  like  him.  What  did  yer  say  the  man's 
name  wuz  what  wrote  it,  Mr.  Jebb  ?" 

"Treblig,"  answered  the  grocer,  taking  the  pa- 
per from  his  desk  and  handing  it  to  Sandy. 

"I  never  heerd  of  no  man  with  that  'ere  name 
in  the  fish  bizness,  but  I'll  ask  the  little  codger  if 
he  knows  him,  an'  I'm  bettin'  he  does," — scan- 


DOING  IT  BROWN  157 

ning  the  name  and  spelling  it  over  very  care- 
fully. 

Sandy  wrote  out  the  name  in  large  letters  on 
a  piece  of  wrapping-paper,  and  scrutinized  it  with 
great  interest.  Finally,  folding  the  paper,  and 
putting  it  into  his  pocket,  he  said :  "Mr.  Jebb,  t-a-t 
spells  tat  anyway  yer  spells  it,  but  T-r-e-b-1-i-g 
don't  spell  Treblig  anyway  yer  spells  it,  an'  I'm 
a-bettin'  the  little  codger  knows  why." 

"Here  comes  Mrs.  Franklin's  cook  now,"  called 
the  grocer,  "and  I'll  bet  she'll  ask  for  fish." 

In  walked  Delia. 

"Good  mawnin',  Muster  Jebb,  has  yer  got  enny 
fresh  fish?" — this  wearily. 

"No,  Delia,  not  this  morning;  yesterday  was 
Sunday ;  of  course  Sandy  wouldn't  fish  then." 

"Bress  de  Lawd  fer  dat,  Muster  Jebbl  I  wah 
a-prayin'  an'  a-hopin'  an'  a-wishin'  dat  de  supply 
o'  fresh  fish  wah  used  up.  I/awd  A'mighty,  Mus- 
ter Jebb,  dere's  done  bin  terrible  doin's  in  our 
house  in  de  fish  line  all  de  week.  Sence  las' 
Chuseday,  it's  fish — fish — fish ;  fish  fo'  breakfast ; 
fish  fo'  dinner,  fish  fo'  supper;  fish  all  day  long, 
till  yer  can't  rest  fo'  fish.  Muster  Franklin  an' 
littl'  Gil  'scusses  fish,  an'  sez  dey  gives  pussons 
brains.  I  don't  'spute  what  dey  sez,  but,  laws- 


158  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

sakes,  Muster  Jebb,  I  goes  roun'  feelin'  like  I 
wah  a  rain-bar'l ;  f o'  dey  sez  fish'll  swim,  dead  or 
alive,  an'  I  done  drunk  de  pump  dry  all  de  week 
an'  dey  are  still  cryin'  fo'  mo'  watah.  I  hopes  to 
de  Lawd  dat  de  ribber'll  run  out  o'  fish,  brain  or 
no  brain,  or  dis  cullud  pusson'll  get  dropsy  sho'." 

Sandy  hurried  to  the  Jedge  to  report  progress 
in  the  financial  department. 

"Jedge,  I've  got  three  dollars  an'  seven  cents, 
an'  I  made  all  of  it,  'cept  twenty-eight  cents,  in  a 
week  an'  two  days." 

"Perseverentia  omnia  vincet,  as  scientific  men 
would  say,"  replied  the  Jedge,  "which,  to  the 
lower  millyun,  like  me  an'  you,  Sandy,  would 
sound  plainer  if  we  jest  sez,  'If  yer  want  ter  git 
there,  keep  a-inchin'  along'." 

"Jedge,  don't  yer  think  we  better  start  buy  in' 
our  material  an'  kind  er  git  ready?" 

"That's  the  talk,  my  boy,  an'  if  yer'll  wait  till  I 
put  on  my  alapaky  coat,  I'll  go  down  to  Tom 
Clark's  with  yer  to  select  the  lumber." 

After  they  had  picked  the  necessary  timber  for 
the  boat,  Sandy  proudly  took  the  bill  and  paid  it. 
He  and  the  Jedge  shouldered  the  planks,  and  they 
started  away.  They  met  Gilbert  and  Dink,  who 
lightened  their  burden,  and  soon  the  load  was  de- 


DOING  IT  BROWN  159 

posited  in  the  Jedge's  woodshed.  Then  a  visit 
was  made  to  a  hardware  store,  where  bolts, 
screws,  nails,  and  so  forth,  were  put  aside  to  be 
called  for,  as  soon  as  Sandy  had  sufficient  capital. 

"It  looks  to  me,"  said  the  Jedge,  as  they  sat  on 
the  porch,  "that  work  ought  to  commence  t'mor- 
rer.  While  ye're  out  on  the  river  fishin',  Dink 
an'  me  will  git  the  trestles  ready,  an'  spruce  up 
gin'rally  fer  a  starter.  Gil  kin  measure  the 
boards  an'  see  if  they're  all  right,  an'  everybody 
kin  make  themselves  useful  gin'rally." 

"Sandy,"  said  Gilbert,  as  they  left  the  Jedge's, 
"my  father  has  given  me  a  set  of  boxing-gloves ; 
would  you  mind  coming  to  the  house  and  show- 
ing me  a  point  or  two  ?" 

"In  course  I  will.  I  stands  ready  to  show  yer 
all  I  knows  'bout  how  to  use  'em,"  spoke  the  elder. 

"The  doctor  says  boxing  is  a  very  healthy  ex- 
ercise, and  father  is  anxious  I  should  learn." 

"Jest  tell  yer  father  to  leave  it  to  me;  'tain't 
goin'  to  be  hard  fer  yer  to  learn.  Ye're  as  quick 
as  greased  lightnin'  with  yer  noddle,  an'  ye've 
got  lots  of  sand,  an'  them  two  things  is  powerful 
helps  in  boxin'." 

The  boys  went  to  Gilbert's  play-room  and  put 
on  the  gloves.  Sandy  first  showed  the  little  fel- 


160  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

low  the  simpler  movements,  and  then  the  finer 
ones  of  side-stepping,  countering  and  dodging,  all 
of  which  he  picked  up  with  surprising  quickness. 
They  had  boxed  intermittently  for  an  hour,  and 
were  resting. 

"I  wants  ter  caution  yer,  little  feller,  'bout  a 
weakness  I've  been  noticin'."  Sandy  stood  up, 
and  beckoned  Gilbert  to  face  him.  "Don't  wear 
yerself  out  tryin'  to  reach  a  big  feller's  mug, 
when  it's  beyond  yer.  Yer'll  peter  out,  an'  he'll 
punch  yer  sure.  There's  lots  o'  fellers  what 
thinks  they've  got  the  Vantage  'cause  they're  big- 
ger, but  every  feller  is  sometimes  the  littlest  in  a 
fight.  Now,  what  yer  wants  to  do,  is  ter  git  yer 
man  down  to  yer  size,  afore  yer  think  of  anythin' 
else.  Jest  connive  a  little,  an'  the  fust  chance  yer 
git,  whack  him  in  the  bread-basket,  an'  when  he 
doubles  up  yer'll  be  pluggin'  him  in  the  jaw.  It's 
jest  this  'ere  way : 

"I'm  a-recollectin'  one  Sunday  afternoon,  I  wuz 
a-walkin'  out  to  Cool  Run,  jest  fer  to  stretch  my 
pins  an'  to  get  a  drap  of  fresh  air,  an'  when  I  gets 
round  by  Swamppoodle,  up  comes  Shanks  Robey. 
It's  'lowed  he's  a  holy  terror  when  he  gits  started. 
His  Giblets  is  as  tall  as  a  bean-pole,  an'  a  tough 
customer.  He  hollered  over  the  street  to  me:  'I 


DOING  IT  BROWN  l6l 

jest  heerd  ye're  the  party  they  call  Pipetown 
Sandy  down  yer  way.' 

"I  'lowed  that  was  so  an'  walked  on,  not  offerin' 
to  argyf  y  the  matter. 

"He  'mediately  calls  out  after  me :  'I'm  a-bettin' 
anythin'  yer  wants,  I  kin  chaw  yer  up  in  three 
minits.'  I  'peared  as  if  I  didn't  take  no  notice 
of  his  insultin'  bragadocy  an'  jest  walked  on,  not 
hurryin',  jest  walkin'.  He  came  on,  follerin' 
'bout  ten  feet  erside  o'  me.  I  was  thinkin'  'bout 
the  song  we  had  in  Sunday-school,  Xet  dogs  de- 
light to  bark  and  bite'  an'  stopped  an'  said: 
'Shanks,  'tain't  no  use  follerin'  me ;  takes  two  fer 
to  spat,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  spat,  leastwise  not  to- 
day,'— an'  I  walked  on,  not  hurryin',  understand, 
jest  walkin'.  He  comes  a  little  closer  and  yells, 
'Fraid-Cat !'  I  looked  at  him,  sayin',  'Lemme  go, 
Shanks ;  don't  stop  me.  Don't  yer  see  I'm  havin' 
trouble  holdin'  myself  ?' 

"He  never  paid  no  'tention  to  my  re-quest,  an'- 
I-hope-I-may-die,  if  he  didn't  call  me  out  er  my 
name.  I  stopped  as  if  I  wuz  rooted  to  the  spot  an' 
looked  at  him,  not  believin'  my  ears.  I  turned 
ag'in  an'  said  slow  an'  sorrowful  like,  'Shanks, 
did  you  speak  ?'  He  laughed  one  of  them  laughs 
that  makes  yer  so  mad  yer  could  bite  yer  own 


1 62  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

mother,  an'  sassed  out,  'Did  I  speak?'  an'  called 
me  out  er  my  name  ag'in. 

"I  faced  right  in  front  er  him,  an'  I-hope-I- 
may-never-see-the-back-of-my-neck,  but  he  was 
that  tall  he  could  'a'  laid  his  two  fists  on  my  head 
by  jest  puttin'  his  arms  put  straight.  I  sez,  'You 
said  yer'd  chaw  me  up  in  three  minits;  I'm  yer 
huckleberry;'  an'  I  begins  to  dance  round  him. 
He  raised  his  fists  to  chop  me  on  the  smeller,  but 
I  got  under,  and  BIFF !  I  soaked  him  one  plum' 
in  his  bread-basket,  an'  he  come  down  where  I 
was  livin'.  Afore  he  know'd  it,  I  wuz  a-playin'  a 
jig  on  his  cocoanut,  an'  he  hollered  'Nuff !'  three 
times  afore  I  heerd  him.  Well,  I  ain't  sayin' 
nuthin'  'gainst  no  feller  as  can  fight  like  Shanks 
Robey,  but  I  wuz  told  he  had  to  take  er  letter 
home  to  his  folks  afore  they  agreed  'twuz 
Shanks." 

The  next  day,  work  began  in  earnest  on  the 
boat,  and  there  was  bustle  and  activity  in  the 
Jedge's  back  yard. 

Between  getting  up  before  day  to  go  to  the 
river  to  fish,  filling  Mrs.  Foley's  rain-barrels,  and 
working  on  his  boat,  Sandy  was  beyond  question 
the  busiest  mortal  in  Pipetown.  The  other  work- 
ers, the  Jedge,  Gilbert  and  Dink  Dabney,  were  not 


DOING  IT  BROWN  163 

idle,  either.  Gilbert  reported  faithfully  every 
morning,  dinner-pail  on  his  arm,  and  when  the 
noon  hour  came  he  sat  as  a  laboring  man  in  the 
shade  eating  his  meal. 

"An'  he  does  it,"  said  Dink  to  his  folks,  "jest 
as  if  he  wuz  a  poor  boy  as  had  to  do  it  fer  his 
keep." 

Gilbert  brought  the  boxing-gloves  down  to  the 
workshop,  and  every  day  after  the  midday  meal 
he  and  Sandy  would  devote  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
to  light  sparring. 

The  days  passed  and  the  boat  was  nearly  com- 
pleted. It  had  been  built  and  caulked,  and  one 
afternoon  Gilbert  was  putting  the  last  coat  of 
white  lead  on  it,  while  Sandy  and  Dink  were  at 
the  carpenter's  bench  in  the  shed,  shaping  the 
rudder. 

The  Jedge,  seated  in  a  wicker  rocker,  his  eyes 
gradually  closing  into  sleep,  was  wholly  oblivious 
of  earthly  things  except  when  he  would  brush 
some  persistent  fly  from  his  nose.  From  a  soft 
snore,  he  changed  slowly  to  a  sharp  rhythmic 
grunt. 

Snarley  Foley  came  into  the  yard  and  noticed 
Gilbert  at  work. 

"Hello,"  he  called.    "Say,  lemme  paint  some?" 


1 64  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Much  obliged,  but  I  guess  I  can  do  it  without 
any  help,"  said  Gilbert,  scarcely  looking  up  from 
his  work. 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  selfish,"  continued  Snarley, 
coming  over  and  reaching  out  for  the  paint-brush. 

"I'm  not  selfish,"  replied  the  little  fellow,  "but 
Sandy  gave  it  to  me  to  do." 

"Yes,  I  guess  so;  yer  hang  round  him  so  yer 
don't  give  him  no  chance  to  think  fer  hisself." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" — still  painting,  and  paying 
no  attention  to  the  other  boy. 

"There's  a  great  deal  of  it,  an'  I  can't  under- 
stan'  how  Sandy  puts  up  with  it." 

"You  had  better  ask  him  and  find  out,  if  you 
are  so  anxious  to  know,"  retorted  Gilbert,  with 
an  angry  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"Yer  think  ye're  some  pun'kins,  don't  yer," 
sneered  Snarley,  "  'cause  yer  kin  saw  catgut,  an' 
wear  Sunday  clothes?  Yer'd  better  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  yer  head.  Fer  two  shakes  of  er  cow's- 
tail,  I'd  punch  yer,  yer  mama's-boy!"  snapped 
Snarley  contemptuously. 

The  boxing-gloves  were  lying  on  the  floor  of 
the  porch  where  the  boys  had  left  them  but  half 
an  hour  before.  Gilbert  put  aside  the  paint-brush, 
slowly  walked  over,  picked  up  the  four  gloves, 


DOING  IT  BROWN  165 

went  to  where  Snarley  was  standing,  and  threw 
two  of  them  at  his  feet. 

"Don't  yer  try  to  hit  me,  a-throwin'  them 
gloves  at  my  feet.  If  yer  do  I'll  give  yer  a  belt  in 
the  snoot,  yer  mama's-boy." 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to  take  two  of 
them  and  belt  me,  as  you  say,  in  the  snoot !  There 
are  the  gloves, — put  them  on." 

"I  don't  fight  with  no  gloves." 

"Well,  you'll  fight  with  gloves  or  without 
gloves,  or  you'll  apologize  for  calling  me  a 
mama's-boy." 

"That  ain't  callin'  yer  put  er  yer  name,"  snarled 
the  bully. 

"I  think  it  is ;  put  on  the  gloves," — almost  as  a 
command,  and  so  loudly  that  Sandy  and  Dink 
came  from  the  shed,  and  the  Jedge  woke  up. 

"What's  up?"  said  Sandy. 

"This  white-livered  cur  called  me  out  of  my 
name,  and  I  want  him  to  put  on  the  mitts  and 
settle  it,"  said  Gilbert,  while  Dink  helped  him  on 
with  the  gloves. 

"Why,  Gil,  'tain't  fair  to  let  yer  fight  Snar- 
ley; he's  'most  twice  as  big  as  you  are.  Let  me 
polish  him  off,"  Dink  volunteered. 

"I  don't  care  if  he  is  four  times  as  big  as  I 


1 66  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

am,  he's  got  to  fight  or  take  water,"  said  Gilbert 
warmly. 

"Yes,  I'm  twice  as  big  as  he  is  an'  I  shouldn't 
fight  him,"  shouted  Snarley,  drawing  himself  up 
and  trying  to  appear  taller  than  he  really  was. 

"You  can't  run  around  Robin  Hood's  barn  with 
me.  I  don't  care  if  you  are  as  big  as  a  house.  If 
you  don't  put  those  gloves  on,  I'll  pull  your  nose, 
and  boot  you  all  pver  town  besides,"  cried  Gil- 
bert, his  eyes  flashing  fire  and  his  face  expressing 
contempt. 

"  'Tain't  no  use,  Snarley ;  ye've  riled  the  little 
feller  an'  ye've  got  to  fight  him,  square  up  an' 
down,  three  rounds.  Here's  the  gloves," — and 
Sandy  forced  them  on  Foley's  hands,  and  laced 
them  carefully.  "Yer  called  the  little  codger  out 
er  his  name,  an'  it  would  spile  his  temper  if  he 
didn't  try  to  lick  yer  fer  it." 

"Sandy,"  said  the  Jedge,  "I  don't  think  it's 
right  to  let  the  little  feller  fight  that  big  lummux." 

"Jedge,  it's  all  right,"  said  Sandy  decisively, 
"ef  yer  got  any  sympathy  lyin'  round  loose,  jest 
give  it  to  Snarley  Foley,  fer  the  little  feller'll 
knock  him  galley-west  jest  as  sure  as  cats  is  cats." 

"Understan'  now,  boys,  I  excuses  yer  fer 
a-fightin'  in  my  back  yard,  'cause  one  of  yer  called 


MRS.    FOI.EY    STOOD    MOTIONLESS    IN   A    STARE   AS    TOM 

SCAMPERED    AWAY  Page  112 


DOING  IT  BROWN  167 

the  other  out  er  his  name,  an'  wouldn't  take  it 
back." 

Sandy  went  over  to  Gilbert  and  whispered, 
"Remember  Shanks  Robey !" 

If  the  lad  was  excited,  he  showed  no  signs  of  it, 
and  came  up  facing  his  taller  and  stronger  oppo- 
nent, cool  and  absolutely  fearless.  He  ran  around 
the  bigger  boy,  cat-like. 

His  movements  evidently  worried  and  rattled 
Snarley.  Gilbert  made  a  feint,  as  if  to  strike  with 
his  left  hand,  then  he  side-stepped.  The  big  boy, 
lumbering  and  awkward,  threw  out  his  elbow 
wildly,  and  unexpectedly  gave  Gilbert  a  terrific 
jab  on  the  nose.  The  blood  spurted  in  streams, 
and  the  little  fellow's  anger  was  fully  aroused. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  opening  his  antago- 
nist had  left,  he  planted,  with  lightning  speed, 
blow  after  blow.  Suddenly  he  landed  with  both 
fists,  and  doubled  Foley  up.  The  bully  was  too 
badly  scared  and  whipped  to  call  "Enough,"  and 
screaming,  "Murder !  Help !  Don't  let  him  kill 
me!"  he  rushed  from  the  yard,  waving  his  arms 
like  windmills. 

Gilbert  took  off  his  gloves,  went  into  the 
kitchen,  washed  the  blood  from  his  face,  returned 
to  the  yard,  and  resumed  his  work  on  the  boat. 


1 68  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Words  just  then  were  not  adequate,  so  all  were 
silent.  The  Jedge,  Sandy  and  Dink  were  thor- 
oughly satisfied,  and  looked  at  the  little  fellow 
with  intense  admiration. 

Sandy  sent  Dink  for  the  boxing-gloves  that 
Snarley  in  his  hurry  had  forgotten  to  leave.  Dink 
returned  shortly  with  them,  and  reported : 

"Snarley  looks  like  he  had  been  used  f  er  a  chop- 
pin'  block,  an'  he  hops  along  kind  er  lopsided, 
'cause  one  eye's  in  mournin',  an'  when  I  holler'd 
'Giddy  giddy  gout,'  he  jest  beller'd,  an'  didn't 
say  nuthin'." 

"I  guess  he's  found  out  he  got  the  wrong  pig 
by  the  ear,"  observed  the  Jedge,  chuckling  as  he 
resumed  work  on  a  hickory  rod. 

As  Sandy  and  Gilbert  separated  at  the  Corner 
that  evening,  the  older  boy  put  his  hand  on  the 
little  fellow's  shoulder,  and  said: 

"I  know'd  you'd  'a'  done  it  an'  done  it  brown, 
but  yer  done  it  browner  than  that." 


CHAPTER  X 

* 

JUNO   WENT   A-SAILING 

The  Lillian  was  finished  at  last.  Painted  a 
beautiful  ultramarine,  a  broad  stripe  of  white 
edging  her  gunwales,  her  rudder  and  oar-blades 
a  brilliant  red,  she  rested  on  the  trestles  ready  for 
shipment  to  the  river, — an  object  of  admiration  to 
every  boy  in  Pipetown. 

Her  name,  in  letters  of  gold,  was  stretched 
across  the  stern,  the  handiwork  of  Gilbert. 

"Gil,"  said  Sandy,  as  the  former  stood  off  view- 
ing the  boat  critically,  "I  wants  ter  ax  yer  a 
favor." 

"All  right,  Sandy!"  The  little  fellow  turned 
to  the  older  boy,  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"Yer  knows  Jim  Cook,  my  second  cousin?" 

"He's  a  sailor,  isn't  he?"  asked  Gilbert. 

"Yes,  that's  him." 

"Of  course  I  know  him." 

"I  seen  him  this  mornin',  an'  he  tol'  me  that  in 
the  navy,  when  they  launches  a  new  boat,  Uncle 

Sam  invites  er  lot  o'  people  an'  a  purty  young  lady 
169 


1 70  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

to  come  an'  help  christen  it,  an'  Jim  sez,  when  the 
boat  slides  inter  the  water  the  lady  takes  er  bottle 
o'  champagne  an'  cracks  it  on  the  bow,  sayin'  at 
the  same  time  the  name  the  boat  is  goin'  by.  An' 
Jim  sez  the  win'  jammers  strike  up  The  Star 
Spangled  Banner,  an'  the  people  hurrah." 

"I  think  I  know  what  you're  driving  at,"  said 
Gilbert,  "and  we  ought  to  christen  the  Lillian 
that  way." 

"That's  jest  what  I  wuz  a-comin'  to,  little 
codger.  D'yer  think  yer  can  git  yer  little  sister 
to  come  an'  do  it?" 

"Of  course;  she  will  be  delighted." 

"In  course,  we  can't  'ford  no  champagne,  but 
my  mother  has  some  home-made  blackberry  wine, 
an'  mebbe  that'll  do." 

"I  think  soda  pop  is  better,  Sandy.  My  father 
says  the  only  difference  is,  that  champagne  has 
more  'fizz'  and  costs  five  dollars  a  bottle." 

"That  settles  it;  soda  pop's  the  baptizin'  fluid. 
I'll  git  a  bottle  at  Jebb's." 

"Instead  of  a  band,  I'll  bring  my  fiddle  and 
play  the  tunes,"  said  the  younger. 

"Bully  fer  you,  little  codger !  Now  it's  all  set- 
tled, an'  we'll  have  it  Saturday  afternoon.  We'll 
give  her  a  great  send-off  an'  no  mistake." 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  171 

Saturday  morning  the  boat  was  hauled  to  the 
river,  and  after  the  midday  meal,  Lillian,  dressed 
as  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  went  with  her  brother 
to  take  part  in  the  proposed  function. 

Sandy,  Dink  and  Gilbert  shoved  the  jumper 
down  the  whitened  beach  and  into  the  clear  water. 
The  Jedge  escorted  Lillian  to  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
and  the  child,  holding  the  bottle  of  soda  pop  in  her 
hand,  began  the  ceremony : 

"I  christen  you  Lillian/' — and  pop!  went  the 
soda. 

Gilbert  struck  up  The  Star  Spangled  Banner, 
Lillian  waved  a  tiny  flag,  and  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany joined  in  the  song. 

"She  sets  as  quiet-like  as  possible;  she's  cert'nly 
stanch,  Sandy.  Take  the  oars,  boys,  an'  see  if 
she's  got  any  speed," — and  the  Jedge  and  Lillian 
sat  in  the  stern,  Sandy  took  the  stroke  and  Dink 
the  bow  oar,  while  Gilbert  sat  forward,  playing. 

They  turned  upstream,  and  with  measured 
stroke  and  feathered  oars,  they  sent  her  through 
the  water  like  a  veritable  racer.  After  speeding 
for  about  two  miles  they  ran  ashore,  stepped  the 
mast  and  raised  the  sail,  with  Sandy  as  skipper. 

She  soon  caught  the  wind,  keeling  beautifully, 
while  the  spray  dashed  over  her  bow. 


1 72  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"She's  a  daisy  an'  no  mistake,"  enthusiastically 
exclaimed  the  Jedge,  "an'  I'll  bet  there  ain't  a 
jumper  this  side  of  Jericho  kin  tech  her."  The 
Jedge  bounded  everything  by  Jericho,  north, 
east,  south  or  west,  and  therefore  the  Lillian, 
in  his  opinion,  was  without  a  peer. 

The  wind  gradually  died  away  and  the  boat 
drifted  slowly  down  the  river  toward  her  moor- 
ings. To  those  on  shore,  there  came,  wafted  over 
the  summer  waves,  the  sweet  voice  of  Gilbert's 
violin.  Home  Sweet  Home  and  The  Old  Folks, 
Annie  Lisle  and  The  Mocking-bird  palpitated 
upon  the  quiet  air,  melodies  that  have  been  heard 
on  a  thousand  similar  occasions,  and  will  be  heard 
as  long  as  the  American  heart  is  attuned  to 
thoughts  of  home  or  to  thoughts  of  love. 

The  youthful  voices  joined  in  with  the  violin, 
and  even  the  Jedge  put  in  an  occasional  note  that 
he  called  "the  second." 

Before  the  sun  was  hidden  behind  the  western 
hills  the  Lillian  was  at  anchor,  her  sail  furled, 
oars  and  oar-locks  safely  stored,  and  the  party 
was  homeward  bound,  happy  in  the  memory  of  a 
perfect  day. 

"Sandy,  the  boat's  a  great  success,"  said  the 
Jedge.  "Boats  sometimes,  under  the  most  care- 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  1 73 

fullest  buildin',  turn  out  bad,  in  which  particular 
they  are  like  boys.  I've  seen  boys  whose  folks 
could  trace  their  pedigree  'way  back  to  prehistoric 
times,  as  scientific  men  would  say,  an'  afore  you'd 
know  anythin'  they'd  butt  their  nozzle  ag'in  a 
rock,  an'  down  they'd  go,  rumsoaked  an'  busted. 
But  the  Lillian  is  O  K,  copper-bottomed,  an'  we 
are  all  proud  of  her." 

When  Gilbert  and  Lillian  reached  home,  they 
recited  with  glowing  enthusiasm  every  detail  of 
the  launching,  rowing  and  sailing,  and  were  loud 
in  their  praise  of  Sandy's  skill. 

The  Jedge  went  to  Jebb's  store  that  night  and 
informed  the  "faithfuls"  that  "Sandy  reminded 
him  more  of  hisself  when  he  wuz  Sandy's  age, 
than  anybody  he  had  ever  seen." 

"Of  course,  in  them  days  I  had  also  the  men- 
tality, as  scientific  men  would  say,  which  is  pecul- 
iar to  Gil  Franklin,"  he  continued,  "but  take  me 
by  an'  large,  as  I  wuz  when  I  wuz  a  boy,  in 
1'arnin',  eddication,  help  yerself  an'  git  there,  I 
wuz  a  twin  brother  to  them  two  boys." 

After  supper  Sandy  sauntered  into  the  grocer's 
and  received  the  congratulations  of  all  hands  on 
his  success  in  building  the  boat.  Calling  Jebb 
aside,  he  said : 


PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I'm  very  much  'bliged  to  yer  fer  buyin'  my 
fish,  Mr.  Jebb,  an'  I  wants  ter  ax  yer  somethin'." 

"Go  ahead,  Sandy;  I'm  all  attention,"  said  the 
grocer  good-naturedly. 

"Wouldn't  yer  like  to  go  out  sailin'  in  the  Lil- 
lian, say  next  Tuesday  afternoon?  The  Jedge'll 
tend  store  for  yer,  an'  I'd  be  mighty  pleased  if 
you'd  let  me  take  yer  up  as  far  as  the  Sycamores, 
an'  then  when  the  sun's  goin'  down,  jest  come 
back." 

"It  will  be  a  great  pleasure,  Sandy,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Jebb  politely,  "if  I  can  arrange  my 
business  affairs." 

"But,  Mr.  Jebb,  yer  store  won't  run  'way  while 
the  Jedge  is  watchin',"  said  the  boy  earnestly. 

"Yes,  I  understand  that,  Sandy,  but  I  have 
some  very,  very  important  matters  to  attend  to  on 
Tuesday,  but  I'll  let  you  know  whether  I  can  go, 
if  you'll  come  around  later." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Jebb,  I'll  come,  but  I'm  afeerd 
I  can't  count  on  yer."  Sandy  walked  to  the  front 
pf  the  store,  picked  up  a  few  raisins  out  of  a  box, 
and  then  very  carelessly  said : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jebb,  I  f ergot.  If  yer  conclude  that 
yer  could  go,  would  yer  mind  if  somebody  else 
went  along?" 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAIUNG  175 

"Certainly  not,  Sandy,  but  do  not  count  on  me, 
as  I'm  likely  to  be  very  busy  next  week." 

"Well,  I  wuz  jest  'bout  to  say  that  on  my  way 
here  I  stopped  at  the  widder's  an'  invited  her  to 
go  sailin'  with  me  on  Tuesday,  an'  she  said  she'd 
positive  go,  rain  or  shine,  but  if  ye're  too  busy, 
don't  say  nuthin'  more  'bout  it,  an'  I'll  take  her 
all  by  myself."  Sandy  was  half-way  out  of  the 
door. 

"Wait  a  minute,  boy,  don't  hurry  so.  Did  you 
say  the  widow  was  going?"  Titcomb  spoke  ex- 
citedly. 

"That  wuz  my  remark."  Sandy  continued  to 
move  away  slowly. 

"Come  back  here  a  minute ;  don't  hurry  off  be- 
fore I  have  a  chance  to  talk  to  you.  My!  you 
hop  about  just  like  the  Irishman's  flea.  On  sec- 
ond thought,  I'm  sure  I  can  arrange  my  business 
affairs  to  go  with  you." 

"Oh,  don't  put  yerself  out,  Mr.  Jebb;  if  yer 
can't  go,  don't  hesitate  to  say  so.  I  kin  take  yer 
any  other  day." 

"You  said  Tuesday,  didn't  you,  Sandy  ?"  ques- 
tioned the  grocer  eagerly. 

"Tuesday  was  what  I  sed." 

"I'm  afraid  I  didn't  quite  catch  the  day,  when 


1 76  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

you  first  spoke.  I  am  so  absent-minded  some- 
times, but  I  remember  now,  Tuesday  is  my  easiest 
day  off.  I've  nothing  to  do  on  Tuesday,  and  I'll 
go;  you  can  count  on  me." 

"I'm  glad  you've  arranged  yer  business  affairs, 
Mr.  Jebb.  I'll  stop  an'  tell  the  widder  I've  in- 
vited you.  I  don't  know  whether  she'll  like  it  or 
not,  but  I'll  chance  it.  Now  be  sure  an'  don't 
fool  me," — and  Sandy,  laughing  roguishly,  left 
the  store. 

The  grocer  immediately  went  to  his  desk,  and 
hours  after  the  store  was  closed  he  was  still  writ- 
ing. His  task  was  finished,  and  he  had  added 
a  new  poem  to  his  collection.  That  night  he 
dreamed  of  an  aquatic  Juno. 

On  Tuesday  Sandy  came  punctually.  Titcomb 
was  waiting  for  him,  and  together  they  went  to 
the  widow's  house.  She  was  in  the  little  parlor 
ready  for  them.  Dressed  in  her  best  gray  delaine, 
with  white  collar  and  mitts,  a  black  silk  shawl  and 
a  "kiss-me-quick"  bonnet,  she  looked  most  be- 
witching. The  trio  left  the  house  and  started 
toward  the  river. 

"I've  asked  Gil  to  go  'long  to  help  sail  the 
boat,"  spoke  Sandy,  "an'  he'll  meet  us  at  the 
landin'.  He's  went  ahead  some  time  ago." 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAIUNG  177 

After  they  had  gone  a  block  or  so,  Sandy  whis- 
pered slyly: 

"Mr.  Jebb,  if  yer  don't  mind,  I'd  like  to  run  on 
an'  git  things  ready  by  the  time  yer  git  there," — 
and  away  he  went,  before  the  grocer  could  reply. 

Jebb  walked  proudly  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Foley, 
and  the  knowledge  that  the  woman  he  loved  was 
near  him  filled  his  soul  with  a  wild  exultation. 
He  was  almost  afraid  to  speak  lest  it  might  be 
only  a  dream,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  dispel 
the  illusion.  The  widow  had  her  thoughts,  too. 
When  they  reached  the  river,  Sandy  and  Gilbert 
had  everything  in  readiness. 

"We'll  sail  up  as  far  as  the  Sycamores,  Mr. 
Jebb,  if  you  an5  Mrs.  Foley's  willin',  an'  then  stay 
there  an'  watch  the  sun  go  down." 

"I've  been  told,"  said  Titcomb,  "that  the  sun- 
set viewed  from  the  Sycamores  is  very  beautiful, 
and  that  in  imagination  you  could  picture  Para- 
dise itself  in  the  many  hues  of  the  dying  day." 

"I've  watched  it  go  down  lots  o'  times  when 
I've  been  yankin'  fish  in  the  cove,  an'  I  tell  yer  it's 
no  slouch  of  a  sun,  anyway,"  added  Sandy,  with 
just  a  suggestion  of  the  melodramatic. 

"The  river  is  delightful  up  there,"  added  Gil- 
bert with  animation. 


178  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"The  river  is  delightful  anywhere,  Gilbert,  and 
I  know  the  Sycamores  are  fine,  if  you  say  so," 
remarked  the  widow. 

The  Lillian  glided  into  the  stream;  Gilbert  sat 
in  front  of  the  mast,  his  feet  hanging  over  the 
bow ;  the  widow  and  Titcomb  occupied  the  middle 
seat,  and  Sandy  was  at  the  helm.  Up  by  the 
Magazine  they  sailed.  Rounding  into  the  Devil's 
Elbow,  they  passed  beyond  the  big  marsh  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Banks,  and  soon  reached  the 
Sycamores. 

As  the  boat  grated  against  the  pebbly  beach, 
Gilbert  stood  ready  to  jump  ashore  and  pull  her 
up.  After  all  were  out,  Sandy  took  a  hatchet,  and 
giving  one  to  Gilbert,  said : 

"Mr.  Jebb,  the  Jedge  axed  me  to  cut  him  some 
hick'ry  poles  fer  fishin'-rods.  There's  some  bully 
good  uns  up  on  the  shore,  t'other  side  of  Turtle 
Creek,  an*  if  you  an'  Mrs.  Foley  don't  mind,  me 
an'  Gil  '11  go  up  to  the  head  of  the  creek  an'  cross 
over.  That'll  take  us  'bout  an  hour  an'  a  half,  an' 
if  yer'll  jest  row  the  boat  up  to  the  mouth  of  the 
creek,  me  an'  Gil  '11  be  there  waitin'  fer  yer.  Don't 
hurry,  'cause  it'll  take  at  least  that  long  afore  we 
kin  cut  'em  an'  fetch  'em  down.  Yer  kin  sail  up 
if  yer  wants  to,  but  I  don't  advise  yer  to,  unless 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  179 

yer  know  all  'bout  the  river,  specially  if  it  should 
blow.  On  second  thought,  I  guess  you'd  better 
row ;  it's  safer." 

The  boys  disappeared  up  a  path  leading  to  the 
creek,  leaving  Titcomb  and  Mrs.  Foley  alone  with 
the  birds  and  flowers. 

The  grocer  carefully  brushed  the  sand  from  a 
board  that  had  been  washed  ashore,  and  impro- 
vised a  seat  for  the  widow.  He  threw  himself, 
with  an  air  of  abandon,  on  a  green  mound 
near-by. 

"I  presumed  on  your  good  nature,"  he  began. 
"I  have  brought  some  of  my  verses  and  will  read 
them,  if  it  pleases  you." 

"I'm  jest  dyin'  to  hear  some  more  of  your 
po'try  pieces,  Mr.  Jebb ;  specially  'bout  Juno,  who- 
ever she  may  be."  The  widow  leaned  forward, 
looking  inquiringly  into  his  face,  and  the  poor 
lovelorn  grocer  could  scarcely  refrain  from  de- 
claring his  passion  then  and  there  without  more 
delay. 

"This  wayward  thought," — his  voice  trembled 
with  suppressed  emotion, — "was  written  last  Sat- 
urday night  just  after  Sandy  told  me  that  you 
had  accepted  his  invitation  for  to-day.  I  have 
named  it  Juno  Went  A-sailing." 


l8o  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Juno  went  a-sailing  where  the  rippling  waters  flow, 
Up  the  stream  and  down  the  stream,  a-gliding  she  did  go. 
The  summer  day  was  mild  and  sweet,  the  sun  was  in  a 

glow, 
When  Juno  sailed  upon  the  river. 

My  love,  my  love,  my  love,  I  love  you  so; 

My  love,  my  love,  oh,  listen  ere  you  go ; 

Juno  went  a-sailing  where  the  rippling  waters  flow, 

And  I  am  dreaming  on  the  river. 

Juno,  proud  and  lofty,  oh,  I  feel  you  do  not  know 
My  heart  is  longing  for  you  as  I  wander  to  and  fro ; 
Tho'  I  scorch  in  Africa  or  freeze  in  Arctic  snow, 
I  love  you,  sailing  on  the  river. 

My  love,  my  love,  my  love,  I  love  you  so, 

My  love,  my  love,  oh,  listen  ere  you  go ; 

Juno  went  a-sailing  where  the  rippling  waters  flow, 

And  I  am  dreaming  on  the  river." 

"Law  sakes,  Mr.  Jebb,  that  is  too  pretty  for 
words.  It  ought  to  be  sung  to." 

"It  can  be  sung  to,  Mrs.  Foley.  It  adapts  it- 
self to  the  tune  of  Marching  Through  Georgia." 

"I  wish  you  would  teach  it  to  me,  and  I  kind  er 
think  it  would  be  awful  nice  to  sing  when  you're 
alone,  an'  all  worn  down  to  a  frazzle." 

"Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  he 
replied  proudly. 

The  widow  beckoned  Titcomb :  "If  you  don't 
mind,  come  set  down  here  by  mCj  and  let  me  sing 
off  the  words  with  you." 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  l8l 

They  began  softly  and  with  a  decided  tremor 
in  their  voices,  but  gradually  growing  more  con- 
fident, they  sang  louder  and  louder,  and  the  hills 
sent  back  the  echo. 


:fc 


"My    love,    my   love,  my  love,    I    love  you   so." 

When  they  had  finished,  the  widow  turned  and 
looked  wistfully  at  the  silently-flowing  water,  then 
sighed. 

"I  hope  the  song  has  not  made  you  unhappy," 
almost  whispered  Titcomb. 

"Unhappy,  Mr.  Jebb?  This  is  the  first  happy 
day  I've  known  these  many  years." 

"Let  us  hope  this  is  but  the  beginning  of  many 
happy  days,"  he  spoke  with  insinuating  sym- 
pathy. 

"How  is  it?"  she  interrupted,  "that  all  them 
pieces  of  po'try  you  write  are  about  a  lady  named 
Juno;  who  is  she  that  you  are  so  powerful  fond 
of  her?" 

"Can't  you  guess?"  his  eyes  trying  to  convey 
the  thought  rampant  in  his  brain. 

"I  can't  guess,  'cept  that  her  name  is  Juno," 
said  the  widow  dubiously. 


1 82  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

He  turned,  and  grasping  both  her  hands,  cried 
passionately : 

"You  are  Juno !  Who  but  you  could  be  Juno  ? 
You  are  the  one  woman  in  all  the  world  I  love,  I 
idolize,  I  would  die  for." 

She  withdrew  her  hands  quickly,  and  covered 
her  face. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Jebb,  you  mustn't,  you  mustn't. 
I'm  a  respectable  woman." 

"Of  course  you  are;  do  you  think  I  believe  you 
otherwise?"  He  kneeled  before  her,  and  tried  to 
grasp  her  hands. 

Holding  him  aloof,  she  cried : 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Jebb,  I  can't,  I  can't.  God  knows 
I  can't." 

Faintly  over  the  water  came  the  clear  voice  of 
Gilbert : 

"  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonny, 
Where  early  falls  the  dew, 
And  'twas  there  that  Annie  I/aurie 
Gave  me  her  promise  true. 
Gave  me  her  promise  true, 
Which  ne'er  forgot  will  be, 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie, 
I'd  lay  me  down  and  die." 

Looking  into  her  face,  he  exclaimed  in  love- 
laden  accents:  "You  hear  that  song — 'And  for 
bonnie  Annie  Laurie  I'd  lay  me  down  and  die.' 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAIUNG  183 

That's  what  my  heart  says  to  you.  You  are  my 
Annie  Laurie,  you  are  my  Juno,  you  are  my 
everything  on  earth." 

"Mr.  Jebb,  Mr.  Jebb,  you  don't  understand  me. 
Heaven  knows  I  believe  you,  but  I  can't,  can't 
listen  to  you,  as  I  am  an  honest  woman." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  implored. 

"Mr.  Jebb,  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  married 
or  single." 

"Married  or  single?  I  do  not  understand!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Neither  do  I,  and  I  have  never  met  any  one 
who  does.  Listen !" 

He  came  back  to  his  seat  by  her. 

"Just  after  the  war  broke  out  my  husband  went 
off,  not  because  he  wanted  to,  but  because  some 
one  gave  him  money  to  shoulder  a  musket.  He 
was  a  worthless  drunkard,  if  there  ever  lived  one. 
He  was  first  on  the  Confederate  side,  then  de- 
serted his  people  and  went  North.  I  tracked  him 
out  for  a  while,  but  I  haven't  seen  him  for  nearly 
five  years,  and  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  alive 
or  dead." 

"After  all  these  years,  it  seems  hardly  probable, 
if  he  were  alive,  that  you  wouldn't  have  heard 
from  him,"  said  the  grocer. 


1 84  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"But  I  haven't,"  she  replied,  "so  what  can  I  do  ? 
I  bear  his  name ;  he  is  the  father  of  my  son,  and  I 
can't  encourage  no  other  man  while  I'm  in  doubt." 

"Hallo-o-a!  Hallo-o-a!  Mr.  Jebb!  Mr.  Jebb!" 
Sandy's  voice  came  over  the  water  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Turtle  Creek. 

"I  do  declare,  we've  been  so  busy  talking  we 
forgot  all  about  the  time,"  said  Titcomb,  "why, 
it's  nearly  six  o'clock." 

"It's  gettin'  dark,  too.  It  looks  like  a  storm  was 
comin',"  said  Mrs.  Foley,  noticing  heavy  clouds 
gathering  over  the  hills. 

"Hallo-o-a!  Hallo-o-a!"  came  again. 

"We'd  better  go,"  said  Jebb.  The  rain  began 
to  fall  slightly.  A  distant  rumbling  of  thunder 
and  a  flash  of  lightning  caused  them  to  hurry. 
The  grocer  helped  the  widow  into  the  boat  and 
started  to  hoist  the  sail. 

"Hallo-o-a!  Hallo-o-a!"  the  boy  called  once 
more. 

"Sandy  said  I'd  better  row,  but  I'm  sure  we  can 
make  better  time  sailing.  I  don't  know  much 
about  a  boat,  but  it  is  not  far  and  we  will  be  there 
in  a  few  minutes."  Titcomb  was  uncertain  of 
his  ability  to  handle  the  craft. 

He  shoved  the  Lillian  off  and  she  scudded 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  185 

toward  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  The  clouds  grew 
blacker  and  blacker,  the  lightning  began  to  play 
incessantly  and  all  heaven's  artillery  was  in  action. 
The  rain  poured  in  torrents,  and  the  boat  shipped 
water  and  lurched  violently.  The  boys  were 
standing  on  a  point  projecting  into  the  river  and 
they  noticed,  with  grave  apprehension,  the  erratic 
steering  of  the  grocer. 

"I  don't  like  things,"  said  Sandy.  "I  tol'  Mr. 
Jebb  not  to  sail  her,  because  I  don't  believe  he 
knows  any  more  'bout  a  boat  than  a  hog  does  'bout 
Latin.  Hallo-o-a!  Mr.  Jebb;  lower  that  sail  as 
quick  as  yer  can.  Great  Jehoshaphat,  she  can't 
stand  ev'rythin'.  Gil,  run  up  the  bank  there,  an' 
git  that  bateau  out  an'  bring  it  down.  I'd  go  my- 
self, if  I  wuzn't  afeerd  to  git  out  o'  sight  o'  Jebb 
an'  the  widder." 

Titcomb  was  standing  up.  Something  was 
amiss  with  the  sail,  and  he  was  evidently  at  a  loss 
what  to  do.  Suddenly  the  boat  made  a  short  turn, 
swung  around  quickly,  and  keeled  over  in  the 
white-capped  water.  The  boom,  swinging  out, 
struck  the  two  occupants,  and  swept  them  off 
their  feet  into  the  river. 

Off  went  Sandy's  shoes,  hat  and  coat,  and 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Don't  give  up, 


1 86  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

I'm  comin',''  he  plunged  in  and  swam  swiftly 
toward  the  struggling  couple. 

As  he  reached  them,  the  grocer,  though  ex- 
hausted, was  trying  to  keep  the  widow  from  sink- 
ing. Calling  to  Sandy,  he  said  faintly : 

"Don't  mind  me,  I'm  almost  done  for ;  but  save 
her." 

Mrs.  Foley  was  going  down  for  the  second 
time.  Sandy  dived,  and  when  he  came  to  the  sur- 
face, he  was  holding  her  by  the  collar.  Then  he 
urged  Jebb : 

"Swim  over  here,  old  man;  we're  all  right  if 
yer  don't  git  scared.  Here  comes  Gil  with  a  boat, 
an'  I'll  have  yer  in  it  in  a  jiffy." 

Gilbert  came  abreast  the  trio,  and  helped  the 
widow  into  the  bateau,  and  then  assisted  Titcomb. 
Finally  Sandy  scrambled  in. 

The  Lillian,  meantime,  had  righted  herself, 
caught  the  wind,  and  dashed  into  a  soft  mud-bank 
a  few  hundred  yards  away.  The  boys  rowed 
over,  lowered  her  sail  and  took  her  back  to  the 
Sycamores.  The  storm  subsided  nearly  as  quickly 
as  it  had  come,  and  the  wet  and  tired  quartet 
started  homeward. 

Everybody  praised  Sandy  and  Gilbert  for  their 
brave  rescue  of  Titcomb  and  Mary,  but  the  lads 


JUNO  WENT  A-SAILING  187 

preferred  to   talk   of  the   splendid  behavior  of 
the  Lillian. 

"She's  a  beauty  an'  no  mistake/'  declared 
Sandy  emphatically,  "I  don't  believe  if  it  blow'd 
all  out-doors  she'd  turn'd  turtle.  She's  a  daisy 
with  a  large  yaller  center.  When  I  seen  the  boom 
strike  Mrs.  Foley  an'  Mr.  Jebb,  I  tho't  it  wuz  four 
o'clock  f  er  both  of  'em.  Mr.  Jebb  held  on  ter  the 
widder  like  grim  death  to  a  mop-stick.  It's 
mighty  lucky  that  Gil  jest  brought  that  'ere 
bateau  in  the  nick  o'  time,  fer  I-hope-I-may-die, 
when  they  went  over,  I  tho't  it  wuz  four  o'clock 
fer  both  of  'em,  but  whichever  way  it  would  er 
wound  up,  yer  can't  beat  my  Lillian" 


CHAPTER  XI 
"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'" 

Our  national  game !  What  an  enemy  to  nepo- 
tism, paternalism,  or  any  other  "ism"  that  thrives 
on  favor  or  influence! 

Oh,  base-ball !  thou  art  truly  the  embodiment  of 
purest  democracy;  like  love,  thou  dost  level  all 
ranks ! 

Of  what  avail  is  distinguished  ancestry,  pre- 
Adamite  origin,  cerulean  blood  or  stainless  es- 
cutcheon, when  one  is  at  the  bat  and  strikes  out! 
Intellectual  superiority,  physical  perfection,  social 
status,  wealth  or  poverty  count  for  nothing,  if 
you  fail  to  bring  in  the  winning  run. 

The  game  was  in  full  blast  in  Pipetown.  Every 
afternoon  the  boys  gathered  on  the  common,  and 
the  sound  of  the  umpire's  voice  was  abroad  in  the 
land. 

The  Eagles  were  champions  of  their  class,  and 
the  tri-colored  pennant  floated  proudly  from  the 
flag-pole  on  their  grounds.  Of  all  rivals  they 

feared  most  the  Smithsonian  Rangers,  and  the 
188 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  189 

three  games  with  them  were  the  great  events  of 
each  base-ball  season. 

At  this  time  Sandy  was  captain  and  pitcher  of 
the  Eagles,  and  day  by  day  his  club  improved  in 
batting,  base  running,  catching  and  team  work. 
One  position  alone  was  weak — that  of  first  base. 
Five  or  six  boys  had  been  tried  there  but  all  had 
proved  unsatisfactory,  and  Sandy  was  worried. 
"If  we  don't  git  a  first  base  that  can  hold  it 
down,"  he  said  to  Gilbert,  after  a  hard  practice 
game,  "the  Rangers'll  knock  the  tar  out  er  us, 
sure." 

"Where  will  you  find  him?"  queried  Gilbert. 
"You've  tried  every  boy  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
not  one  has  been  worth  shucks.  It  puzzles  me 
where  you  are  to  find  the  right  man  for  the 
position." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  yer,  Gil,"  was  Sandy's 
reply,  "but  I  don't  know.  Yer  kin  bet  I'm  hard 
pushed  when  I  puts  a  boy  like  Snarley  Foley  on 
first  bag.  He  ain't  got  sense  'nough  to  pour  water 
out  er  a  boot.  He's  the  biggest  butter-fingers  of 
the  lot.  I  didn't  think  a  feller  could  muff  so  much. 
If  I'd  'a'  kept  him  on,  I'd  had  to  give  him  a 
clo'es-basket  to  ketch  the  ball  in;  nuthin'  smaller 
would  'a'  done.  Lor'  knows  where  I'll  git  a  first 


190  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

baseman.  But  I  ain't  give  up  by  no  manner  o' 
means." 

Therefore  Sandy  persevered  until  by  mere  acci- 
dent he  found  the  player  he  sought. 

As  an  interested  spectator  at  the  practice  games, 
he  had  frequently  noticed  a  handsome,  dark-com- 
plexioned, well-dressed  boy  of  perhaps  sixteen 
years.  He  was  as  tall  as  Sandy  himself,  slightly 
heavier  in  build  and  evidently  a  new-comer  in  the 
neighborhood.  Clearly  he  understood  the  game, 
for  he  never  failed  to  applaud  a  brilliant  play. 

About  a  week  before  the  Eagles'  first  match 
game  with  the  Rangers,  the  stranger  was  as 
usual  on  the  field,  and  showed  keen  interest  in 
the  work  of  the  team.  There  was  a  crowd  of 
small  boys,  upon  whom  Tom  Foley  and  Fatty 
Beeks  were  playing  all  sorts  of  practical  jokes. 
One  of  their  favorite  tricks,  that  furnished  great 
sport  to  every  one  but  the  victim,  was  to  have 
Foley  creep  up  on  hands  and  knees  behind  some 
unsuspecting  lad,  while  Fatty  with  a  push  sent 
him  sprawling  backward  over  the  crouching  fel- 
low conspirator.  The  joke  had  been  worn  thread- 
bare that  afternoon,  and  it  was  becoming  difficult 
to  find  new  material  to  work  on. 

The  stranger  had  noticed  this  rough  horse-play, 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN"'  191 

but  was  so  wrapped  up  in  the  ball  game  that  he 
paid  little  attention  to  it.  Evidently  the  two 
jokers  believed  he  would  be  a  good  subject,  and 
going  through  a  hurried  pantomime  they  went 
cautiously  toward  him;  but  no  sooner  had  they 
bumped  against  the  youth,  than  out  shot  his  right 
arm,  and,  grabbing  the  surprised  Fatty  by  the  col- 
lar, with  lightning  rapidity  he  reached  for  Foley, 
jerked  him  to  a  standing  position,  and,  holding 
each  in  a  vise-like  grip,  banged  the  heads  of  the 
two  frightened  jokers  together,  and  then  threw 
them  to  the  ground. 

A  shout  of  delight  came  from  the  lookers-on, 
and  the  cowardly  rascals,  seeing  the  tables  turned 
upon  them,  sneaked  away.  Sandy  laughed  bois- 
terously, then  walked  over  and  said : 

"That 's  bully ;  yer  whacked  their  cocoanuts  so 
hard  they'd  'a'  cracked,  if  they  wuzn't  made  o' 
mush." 

"I  don't  like  practical  jokes,"  said  the  new- 
comer. 

"Well,  yer  can  bet  yer  bottom  dollar,  Snarley 
and  Fatty  won't  monkey  with  you  no  more." 

"I  don't  think  so,  either,"  said  the  other  con- 
vincingly. 

"Do  yer  ever  play  ball?"  asked  Sandy. 


192  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Oh,  yts,  I'm  first  base  on  our  nine  at  school," 
was  the  reply. 

"Where  is  yer  school  ?" 

"In  New  York  City,"  said  the  other. 

"Well,  New  York  City,  what's  yer  t'uther 
name?" 

"My  name  is  Leander  Daindridge." 

"My  name's  Sandy  Goggles,  an'  I  wish  yer'd 
go  out  an'  hold  down  fust  bag  fer  us,"  said 
Sandy,  shaking  hands  cordially  with  him. 

Young  Daindridge  took  off  his  coat,  turned  up 
the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  and  went  toward  the  base, 
where  for  an  hour  he  surprised  the  team  with  his 
fine  work  in  catching,  base  running,  batting  and 
throwing. 

As  Sandy  and  Gilbert  strolled  homeward  after 
the  game,  the  older  boy  broke  a  long  silence  with, 
"I  don'  understand  it,  Gil." 

"Don't  understand  what?"  asked  the  little  fel- 
low. 

"I  don't  understand  it  at  all.  That  Leander's 
the  fust  boy  I  ever  seen  what  wore  Sunday  clo'es 
on  a  week-day,  an'  could  do  anything" — and 
Sandy  shook  his  head  as  if  greatly  puzzled. 

"Over  the  river,"  he  said,  and  the  two  boys 
parted. 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  193 

Next  day  Leander  was  permanently  installed  as 
first  baseman  on  the  Eagles.  The  youth  had  all 
the  qualities  of  a  real  American  boy.  He  was 
brave  and  gentle,  unassuming  and  courteous,  and 
soon  became  a  general  favorite. 

The  day  of  the  great  match  with  the  Rangers 
was  at  hand.  The  Pipetowns  consisted  of  Tub 
Dykes,  catcher;  Sandy,  pitcher;  Leander,  first 
base;  Lefty  Sparrow,  second  base;  Dink  Dabney, 
short  stop;  Ernie  Crawford,  third  base;  Pat  Cor- 
rigan,  left  field;  Curley  Harris,  center  field,  and 
Sloppy  Sowders,  right  field,  and  the  nine  was 
the  strongest  the  club  had  ever  mustered.  The 
players'  ages  ranged  from  fifteen  to  sixteen.  Gil- 
bert was  secretary,  treasurer  and  official  scorer 
all  in  one. 

The  day  of  the  game  was  the  glorious  Fourth. 
Sandy  won  the  toss  and  sent  his  team  into  the 
field,  with  the  parting  words :  "Don't  fergit,  boys, 
this  game's  fer  blood,  an'  if  we  lose,  we  needn't 
die  ag'in." 

The  contest  was  a  hot  one,  and  it  was  any  one's 
game  until  the  last  player  had  been  called  out  in 
the  ninth  inning.  But  victory  was  with  the  Eagles. 
This  was  happiness  enough  for  Pipetown,  and 
every  man,  woman  and  child  went  to  bed  at  peace 


194  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

with  all  the  world  and  their  neighbors.  Sandy 
and  Leander  were  the  favorites  of  the  event. 

On  the  evening  after  the  match,  as  the  twilight 
shadows  were  growing  deeper  and  the  soft-faced 
stars  were  heralding  the  coming  night,  the  boys  of 
the  victorious  ball  club  were  circled  about  a  hol- 
lowed place  on  the  old  chip  bank  by  the  river. 
The  memorable  contest  was  reviewed  again  and 
again.  Leander's  wonderful  stop  in  the  fifth  in- 
ning and  Sandy's  home  run  in  the  ninth,  were 
enthusiastically  commented  upon,  and  many 
prophecies  were  ventured  on  the  result  of  the  sec- 
ond game. 

Dink  insisted  that  the  next  time  the  Rangers 
wouldn't  be  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper  with  the 
Eagles,  and  he  "didn't  blow  no  bazoo  nuther." 

Changing  the  subject,  Ernie  Crawford  said: 
"Gil,  spin  us  a  yarn." 

"Yes,  a  story,"  shouted  the  others. 

"No,  I'd  rather  not  to-night,"  replied  the  lad. 
"I've  told  so  many  I  should  think  you'd  be  tired 
of  them." 

"Sandy,  Sandy'll  tell  a  story,"  shouted  Ernie. 

"Oh,  pshaw!  I  don't  know  no  stories.  I've 
never  been  nowhere.  I'm  no  account  in  that  'ere 
line,  as  I  tol'  yer  afore  lots  er  times." 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  195 

"Yes,  you  are,"  retorted  Gilbert.  "Now  think 
of  something  you've  heard  or  seen." 

Sandy  gazed  vacantly  for  some  time,  then  be- 
gan: "The  only  thing  I  kin  think  of  that  might 
do  at  all,  is  when  the  army  come  home." 

"That's  it ;  tell  us  about  the  great  review  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  I've  heard  you  say  you 
saw  it;  so  tell  us  all  about  it,"  urged  Gilbert. 

"Well,  here  goes !"  said  Sandy  f alteringly.  "If 
yer  boys  gits  tired,  jest  say  so,  an'  I'll  stop." 

WHEN  THE  ARMY  CAME  HOME 

'Twas  three  years  ago  last  May,  jest  a  little 
while  after  Gen'ral  Grant  an'  Gen'ral  Lee  had 
their  great  confab  at  Appermattox,  an'  settled 
things.  I  guess  everybody  wuz  mighty  glad  they 
talked  it  over  an'  made  up  their  minds  to  quit  an* 
stop  nghtin'  each  other. 

My  father  wuz  readin'  the  Evening  Star  after 
supper,  an'  he  ups  an'  sez,  "Jennie,  I  sees  by  this 
'ere  paper  that  the  army  is  comin'  home."  "The 
Lor'  be  praised  fer  that,"  sez  mum,  "an'  I  hopes 
an'  prays  they'll  stay  home,  an'  never  go  off 
fightin'  ag'in,"  at  which  my  dad  sez,  "Amen." 

"Jennie,"  he  sez,  "I'm  a-feelin'  it's  almost 
'Lights  out'  with  me,  but  if  the  Lor'  wills  to  let 


196  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

me  stay  till  the  army  comes  back,  I'm  a-goin'  to 
put  on  my  uniform,  an'  jest  go  out  an'  see  'em 
marchin'  up  the  street." 

My  old  dad  was  ailin'  a  terrible  lot  jest  then. 
Between  three  or  four  lead  slugs  that  had  never 
been  dug  out,  an'  his  sawed-off  leg,  he  was  full  of 
mis'ry,  but  he  never  croaked.  The  only  way  we 
knowed  he  wuz  sufferin'  wuz  when  he'd  holler  in 
his  sleep,  an'  then  he  wouldn't  'low  he  did,  when 
we  tol*  him.  He'd  say  he  was  jest  dreamin'  o' 
nothin'  in  partic'lar,  but,  in  course,  we  know'd 
better. 

Sure  'nuff,  the  corporation  begins  cleanin'  the 
streets  an'  hangin'  out  buntin'  an'  flags  an'  ever- 
greens, an'  there  wuz  stuck  up  ev'rywheres  signs 
what  said:  "Welcome  to  the  Nation's  Heroes," 
"Welcome  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,"  "Wel- 
come to  the  Gallant  Fifth  and  Sheridan's  Invin- 
cibles,"  an'  sich  like. 

The  old  man  gits  his  uniform  out  an'  has  mum 
to  sew  up  the  bullet-holes,  so  people  wouldn't 
think  it  was  moth-eaten  or  worn  out,  an'  when  the 
day  come,  he  spruces  up,  an'  me  an'  him  legs  it 
up  town  to  see  the  sojers  come  back. 

When  we  gits  up  by  the  capitol,  the  school 
children  wuz  standin'  aroun'  on  all  sides  a-waitin'. 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  197 

The  gals  wuz  all  dressed  in  white  an'  the  boys  had 
duck  pants  on  an'  blue  jackets,  an'  all  of  'em  had 
red,  white  an'  blue  rosettes  pinned  to  their  shirts. 
Some  of  'em  had  bo'kets  an'  things  like  that  to 
give  to  the  sojers  when  they  come  along. 

We  stan's  there  a  little  while  an'  hears  'em  sing 
Rally  Round  the  Flag,  an'  When  Johnny  Comes 
Marchin'  Home,  then  the  old  man  sez,  a-startin' 
off:  "Let's  mosey  along  to  where  Andy  Johnson 
an'  Grant's  goin'  to  review  the  boys." 

We  kep'  on  a-walkin'  until  we  got  up  by  the 
President's  house,  an'  we  steps  up,  brash  as  yer 
please,  on  a  stand,  jest  across  from  the  place  where 
Andy  Johnson,  Gen'ral  Grant  and  the  other  big 
guns  wuz  goin'  to  sit  an'  look.  Nobody  said 
nuthin'  to  us,  so  we  squats  right  down  an'  watches 
the  people  come  a-pilin'  in. 

It  wuz  Guv'ner  this,  an'  Guv'ner  that,  an'  Guv'- 
ner  t'other;  it  wuz  jest  rainin'  guv'ners.  We 
warn't  no  guv'ners,  an'  we  know'd  we  didn't 
b'long  there,  but  we  didn't  holler  it  out  so  folks 
could  hear  us,  an'  nobody  noticed  the  diff'rence. 
Afore  long  ther'  wuz  some  clappin'  an'  shoutin', 
an'  Andy  Johnson  and  the  Gen'ral  comes  out  on 
the  stand  opposite.  Then  a  lot  er  high-up  officers, 
an'  sich  folk,  hustles  on,  lookin'  mighty  well-kept 


198  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

an'  important.  There  wuz  two  boys  'mong  that 
crowd,  an'  somebody  sez  they're  the  Gen'ral's 
children.  I  spec'  they  wuz  orful  proud  o'  their 
daddy,  fer  yer  could  hear  the  people  hollerin', 
"Grant,  Grant!  Hurray  fer  Grant!"  more'n  any- 
thin'  else  jest  then. 

Well,  sir,  we  hears  a  rumblin'  down  the  street 
an'  we  know'd  the  Army  wuz  comin'.  There  wuz 
a  fine-lookin'  gen'ral  ridin'  in  front.  One  of  the 
pack  er  guv'ners  sez,  "There's  Meade !"  I'd  never 
seen  him  afore,  but  I  took  the  guv'ner's  word  fer 
it.  Then  come  a  lot  'er  officers,  some  clean  an' 
new-lookin',  an'  't'others  consid'rably  s'iled,  an' 
as  they  passed  the  President,  they  s'luted  with 
their  swords  an'  kep'  right  on. 

I  wuz  jest  wishin'  it  would  get  a  little  excitin', 
when,  lickety-split,  the  devil's  own  horse  comes 
tearin'  up  the  street  fer  all  he  wuz  worth.  He  cer- 
t'nly  did  look  bad.  The  crowd  stops  cacklin'  an' 
rose  up  like  bees  a-swarmin',  an'  strains  their 
necks  peekin'.  There  wuz  'n  officer  on  the  horse, 
with  no  hat  on.  His  long  lightish  hair  wuz  jest 
blowin'  ev'ryway ;  ther'  wuz  a  great  wreath  swung 
on  his  left  arm,  an'  that  'ere  horse  wuz  runnin'  as 
if  Satan  hisself  wuz  chasin'  it.  I  wuz  so  scared 
I  jest  kep'  my  mouth  shet  fer  fear  I'd  spit  out  my 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  199 

heart.  My  father  grabs  my  arm  tight  as  a  vise; 
yer  could  see  the  place  a  week  afterwards. 

"My  God,  he  '11  be  dashed  to  pieces !"  hollers 
a  lady,  holdin'  on  to  the  rail. 

"Who  is  it?"  shouts  a  guv'ner,  shakin'  like  a 
aspen  leaf. 

"It's  Custer!"  bellers  er  officer,  jumpin'  on  a 
chair,  mos'  dead  from  excitement. 

"That's  all  right!"  yells  my  daddy,  as  loud  as 
he  knows  how.  "Set  down,  an'  enj'y  yerself." 

Jest  then  the  horse  rears  up,  an'  when  he  come 
down  I  tho't  he  wuz  goin'  heels  over  head. 

"Oh !"  cries  all  the  people  at  onct,  a-shudderin'. 

"Set  down!"  yells  my  dad  ag'in.  "Set  down; 
it's  Custer,  an'  it's  all  right.  He  don't  ride  a 
horse  'cause  he  has  to ;  he  rides  'cause  he  kin." 

Per  a  minute  yer  could  hear  a  pin  drop.  An'  lo 
an'  behold,  we  sees  the  Gen'ral  comin'  back,  an'  his 
horse  was  steppin'  soft  an'  actin'  as  gentle  as  a 
parson's  nag  on  Sunday.  Custer  was  a-bowin'  to 
Andy  an'  Grant  an'  the  ladies  as  he  passes,  an'  he 
wuz  jest  as  ca'm  an'  smilin'  as  if  he  wuz  in  a 
parlor. 

Oh,  my,  how  that  crowd  did  clap  an'  hurray! 
Yer'd  a-tho't  it  wuz  a  house  er-fire.  My  dad  said 
he  felt  like  he  had  hair  clean  down  his  back,  an' 


200  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

ev'ry  one  a-standin'  up,  when  he  seen  that  horse 
runnin'  away,  but  when  he  heard  it  was  Custer  he 
jest  lay  back,  an'  could  er  snoozed,  he  felt  so 
peaceful  like.  Pop  sed  Custer  wouldn't  know 
how  to  start  gittin'  scared. 

Pretty  soon  along  comes  his  cav'lry,  an'  they 
cert'nly  did  look  scrumptious  with  their  carbines, 
an'  sabers  an'  red  scarfs  a-danglin'  sassy-like 
round  their  necks.  They  had  a  band,  an'  it  was 
tootin'  chunes  that  ev'rybody  was  keepin'  time  to, 
an'  even  dad  was  a-pumpin'  up  an'  down  with  his 
cork  leg. 

After  a  while  the  Zoo-Zoos  comes  by,  all  in  red 
trimmin's,  an'  red  tassels  on  the  caps,  an'  it  wuz 
jest  great,  an*  the  Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the 
Boys  are  Marchin',  stayed  with  me  till  I  got  home. 
Lots  of  the  flags  had  crape  on  'em.  One  of  the 
guv'ners  sed  it  wuz  'cause  Mr.  Lincoln  had  died, 
an'  that  wuz  mighty  sorrowful  to  ev'rybody 
aroun',  to  say  nuthin'  of  poor  ol'  dad. 

When  dad  an'  mum  an'  me  was  sittin'  talkin' 
'bout  it  that  night,  pop  sez :  "It  wuz  fine,  an'  no 
mistake."  But  after  he  had  lit  his  pipe,  he  sez : 
"Jest  wait  till  to-morrer,  an'  then  yer'll  see  some- 
thin'  that  yer'll  see.  My  Army  is  comin'.  The 
Bummers  with  Uncle  Billy  an'  Black  Jack'll  be 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN'"  2OI 

marchin'  in,  an'  they'll  make  Rome  howl !"  Pop 
was  powerful  fond  of  Uncle  Billy  an'  Black  Jack, 
an'  proud  he'd  been  with  The  Bummers.  When 
he  wuz  argufyin'  he'd  say  it  might  be  a  matter 
o'  dooty  fer  a  sojer  to  lose  his  leg  with  any  army, 
but  with  The  Bummers  it  wuz  a  pleasure,  an'  I 
don't  believe  he'd  a-taken  it  back  if  hell  had  froze 
over. 

Well,  sir,  nex'  mornin',  bright  an'  early,  me  an' 
dad  starts  up,  an'  when  we  gits  to  the  Botanical 
Gardens  by  the  Tiber  Creek  bridge,  we  finds  a  pile 
o'  bricks,  an'  as  they  looks  handy  to  set  on,  we 
perempts  'em,  an'  we  could  see  hunky-dory. 

At  nine  o'clock,  "Boom !"  goes  the  signal  gun, 
an'  afore  yer  got  tired  waitin'  along  comes  The 
Bummers.  They  looked  like  they  had  been  mos' 
too  busy  to  change  their  fightin'  clo'es.  Their 
broad-brimmed  hats  looked  great,  an'  the  crowd 
got  stuck  on  'em  mighty  soon. 

Officers  come  'long  with  wreaths  on  their 
horses'  necks,  an'  lots  an'  lots  er  the  sojers  had 
bo'kets  stuck  in  their  guns,  an'  Lor'  alive,  but  they 
did  hoof  it.  Yer  could  hear  'em  plunk,  plunk, 
plunk,  the  boys  are  marchin',  till  yer  couldn't 
rest. 

Well,  sir,  here  comes  a  sojer  marchin'  'long 


202  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

with  his  comp'ny,  an'  I-hope-I  may-die,  if  he 
didn't  have  a  racoon  a-settin'  on  his  shoulder. 
That  racoon  jest  put  his  face  down  by  the  side 
of  the  sojer's  cheek  an'  looked  out  at  the  crowd, 
jest  as  sharp  an'  bright  as  yer  please,  an'  it 
seemed  to  me  he  was  sayin' : 

"I've  bin  there,  I've  bin  there;  I've  been 
fightin'." 

The  crowd  clapped  an'  laughed  to  split  their 
sides.  Then  up  comes  a  tall  sojer  carryin'  a  flag 
pole,  an'  the  flag  was  faded  an'  shot  to  pieces. 
There  wuz  stains  on  it  that  look'd  like  blood,  an' 
all  at  once  the  breeze  jest  flung  that  flag  out, 
proud  an'  defiant  like,  an'  I  thought  it  sed,  plain 
as  possible : 

"I've  bin  there,  I've  bin  there;  I've  bin 
fightin'." 

The  crowd  clapped  till  the  flag  was  out  er  sight, 
an'  pretty  soon  along  comes  mules,  an'  donkeys, 
an'  goats,  an'  dogs,  an'  cows,  an'  I-hope-I-may- 
die  if  there  wuzn't  a  rooster  perched  on  a  horse's 
back  an'  a-crowin' : 

"I've  bin  there,  I've  bin  there;  I've  bin 
fightin'." 

And  we  jest  went  crazy,  clappin'. 

When  the  sappers   an'   miners   comes,   their 


"I'VE  BIN  FIGHTIN' "  203 

blouses  tucked  in  their  pants  an'  their  belts  tight- 
ened, an'  shoulderin'  their  shovels,  picks  an'  axes, 
we  knowed  they'd  bin  there.  We  knowed  they 
had  chopped,  had  dug,  had  shoveled  their  way  to 
vict'ry,  an'  to  Glory  Hallelujah.  An'  when  they 
pass'd,  the  line  comes  to  a  halt  fer  a  minute.  My 
ol'  dad  wuz  keepin'  both  eyes  open,  an'  all  of  a 
sudden  I  seen  a  sojer  lookin'  at  dad,  an'  he  hol- 
lers out : 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned;  there's  Dan  Goggles!" 
And  afore  yer  could  say  Jack  Robinson,  he  tosses 
his  gun  to  another  feller,  an'  rushed  over  to  dad, 
an'  honest-to-goodness,  if  they  didn't  hug  each 
other  like  they  wuz  two  mothers. 

"I  tho't  yer  wuz  dead,  Dan,"  said  the  sojer,  as 
if  he  wuz  goin'  to  cry. 

"I  heerd  you  wuz,  Sam,"  said  dad,  an*  he  wuz 
a-blubberin*. 

"No;  I'm  all  right,"  said  Sam,  laughin'  happy 
like  an'  pattin'  my  cocoanut. 

"An'  I'm  all  right,  too,"  said  dad.  He  wuzn't, 
but  he  didn't  let  on. 

And  then  I  know'd  the  sojer  was  Sam  Dickson, 
who  had  gone  to  the  war  with  dad,  an'  they  had 
marched  an'  starved  an'  almost  died  together.  I 
know'd  it,  fer  one  of  the  other  sojers  told  me. 


204  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Well,  sir,  what  must  we  do,  but  dad  jest  takes 
his  place  in  that  'ere  company  right  'long  side  o' 
Sam,  an'  Sam  handed  his  gun  to  me,  an'  I  walked 
in.  front  a-totin'  it  at  right-shoulder-shift,  jest  like 
all  the  sojers  in  the  reg'ment. 

An'  Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  Boys  Are 
Marchin',  we  went  up  the  Av'nue.  Dad  stepped 
out  jest  as  if  he  hadn't  enny  cork  leg,  an'  I 
stretched  my  shanks  f  er  all  I  wuz  worth. 

The  people  clapped  an'  clapped,  an'  give  me  a 
bo'ket,  an'  dad  got  a  lot  o'  'em,  an'  the  officer 
who  wuz  march  in'  right  in  front  er  the  comp'ny 
kep'  his  eyes  glued  ahead,  an'  pretendin'  he  didn't 
see  nuthin',  which  cert'nly  was  mighty  white  er 
him. 

We  wheeled  round  the  corner.  Jest  as  we  got 
to  the  gran'  stan'  the  officers  shouted  out  their 
orders.  Me  an'  The  Bummers  presented  arms, 
an'  dad  s'luted  as  we  passed  the  President.  The 
crowd  seemed  jest  crazy  happy,  but  I  wuz  orful 
lonesome,  'cause  I  wuz  the  only  one  in  that  'ere 
hull  review  who  couldn't  say : 

"I've  bin  there,  I've  bin  there;  I've  bin 
nghtin'." 


CHAPTER  XII 

SANDY  AND   LKANDER   HAVE  IT   OUT 


"I  think  you're  a  mean  old  thing,  so  there  !" 

Zorah  laughed  in  rippling  coquetry  and  waited 
for  Sandy  to  speak.  The  boy  was  busy  repairing 
the  weather-beaten  arbor  that  extended  from  the 
street  to  the  front  door  of  his  little  home.  He 
stopped  working  and  looked  inquiringly  in  the 
direction  of  the  speaker. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say,"  continued  the  maid, 
assuming  an  air  of  mock  gravity. 

"What  have  I  been  an'  done?"  asked  Sandy. 

"To  think  you  built  a  boat  and  never  so  much  as 
said  to  me,  'Won't  you  go  sailing?'"  and  she 
shook  her  finger  at  him  reprovingly.  "I'll  never, 
never  forgive  you." 

"In  course,"  said  Sandy  apologetically,  "I  in- 
ten'  to  take  ev'rybody  out  sailin'  in  the  Lillian, 
sooner  or  later." 

"Sooner  or  later  don't  suit  me  at  all,  an'  if  you 
had  any  gumption  you'd  know  that,  too,"  —  toss- 
ing her  head  scornfully. 

205 


206  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  spec's  that's  so;  I  ain't  got  no  noddle  for 
gals,"  faltered  the  boy. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  act  as  if  you  don't  know 
enough  to  come  in  when  it's  raining.  You've  got 
gumption  enough  to  ask  others  to  go  in  your 
boat." 

"They  wuzn't  no  gals  I  asked:  they  wuz  only 
the  Jedge,  an'  Dink,  an'  Gil,  an'  his  little  sister 
Lillian." 

"Well,  if  you  thought  of  Lillian,  why  didn't 
you  think  of  me?" 

"Mebbe  I  should  have,  but  I  ain't  got  no  noddle 
fer  gals,  generally,"  drawled  Sandy,  perplexed. 

"Oh,  tell  that  to  the  marines.  A  boom-e-laddy 
wouldn't  believe  it,"  said  Zorah,  with  a  disdainful 
shake  of  her  head. 

"Gals  never  pays  no  'tention  to  me,"  retorted 
Sandy,  now  on  the  defensive. 

"I  suppose  you  want  them  to  kneel  down  in 
front  of  you  and  say,  "Oh,  Mr.  Goggles,  won't 
you  take  me  out  sailing?'" — and  Zorah  panto- 
mimed the  action  most  extravagantly. 

"If  a  gal  did  that  I'd  think  her  looney,"  replied 
the  boy. 

"Of  course  you  would.  Leander  was  surprised 
when  I  told  him  I  hadn't  been  in  your  boat." 


'I    THINK    YOU'RE    A    MEAN    OLD    THING,    SO    THERE!" 


Page  205 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT    207 

She  spoke  as  if  a  great  wrong  had  been  done 
her. 

"Mebbe  yer'd  like  to  go  sailin'  with  him," 
Sandy  suggested,  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"That  would  be  simply  delightful."  The  little 
coquette  clasped  her  hands  fervently,  and  looked 
heavenward. 

"If  yer  wants  to,  I'll  lend  him  my  boat." 

"No,  thank  you,"  quickly  answered  the  tor- 
ment ;  "I  don't  go  in  borrowed  boats." 

"A  borrowed  boat  is  better'n  no  boat  at  t'all," 
fired  back  Sandy  hotly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that;  somebody  I 
know  has  a  new  boat," — this  in  a  tantalizing  tone. 

"D'yer  mean  Leander?"  questioned  Sandy  in 
surprise. 

"You  can  go  up  head;  you  guessed  right  the 
first  time," — and  Zorah  laughed  triumphantly. 

"When  did  he  git  a  boat?" 

"His  uncle,  the  Commodore,  gave  him  a  regu- 
lar beauty  this  morning." 

"Who  told  yer?"  asked  Sandy. 

"Leander  told  me  so  himself.  You  know  he's 
awfully  fond  of  calling  at  our  house,  and  we  do 
love  to  have  him,  he's  so  bright  and  cheerful. 
He's  got  such  fine  hair  and  peachy  skin.  Crissie 


208  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

says  any  girl  would  be  proud  of  such  a  beautiful, 
clear  complexion ;  not  a  freckle,  as  we  can  see," — 
and  Zorah  dwelt  on  the  word  "freckle"  as  though 
it  were  a  bitter  morsel. 

"I  s'pose  that's  so;  but  what's  the  name  o'  the 
boat?" 

"Leander  hasn't  named  it  yet,  but  he  expects 
to  call  it  the  Zorah." 

The  boy  started  violently,  and,  slightly  flushed, 
asked  huskily:  "Did  he  say  he'd  call  it  the 
Zorah?" 

"No,  not  exactly ;  but  he  said  he  thought  Zorah 
would  be  an  awful  nice  name  for  it.  I  said  so 
first,  and  then  he  said  so,"  volunteered  the  tan- 
talizer. 

"Would  yer  let  a  plumb  stranger  name  his  boat 
fer  yer?" 

"What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Lots  an'  lots,"  answered  the  other.  "A  total 
stranger's  got  no  business  to  use  names  like  Zorah, 
when  he  knows  gals  at  home  with  other  names." 

"I  can't  see  how  that  concerns  you." 

"I  thought  yer  had  too  much  pride  to  'low  it," 
hotly  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"It's  just  because  I  have  pride,  that  I  want  a 
boat  called  Zorah." 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  209 

"If  yer  wanted  my  boat  called  Zorah,  why 
didn't  yer  say  so?" 

"If  you  wanted  to  call  your  boat  Zorah,  why 
didn't  you  say  so  ?" 

"I  didn't  want  to." 

"Then  you  have  no  right  to  object,  if  Leander 
does." 

"Yer  hinted  him  into  doin'  it,"  said  the  boy 
stoutly. 

"That's  more  than  I  could  do  with  you." 

"Yer  didn't  try,"  exclaimed  Sandy. 

"What's  the  use  ?  A  brick  house  would  have  to 
fall  before  you'd  take  a  hint." 

"Mebbe  ye're  right,  Zorah.  I  axes  yer  pard'n 
fer  gittin'  excited  an'  f ergittin'  myself ;  but  I  calls 
my  boat  the  Lillian,  'cause  I  likes  Gil's  little  sister 
an'  she  likes  me,  an'  she  told  me  so  the  very  fust 
time  I  seen  her." 

"I  suppose  if  everybody  told  you  they  liked  you 
the  first  time  they  saw  you,  your  boat  would  have 
as  many  names  as  a  city  directory?" 

"I  didn't  say  so,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Well,  I  think  it  would,  and  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  not  calling  your  boat  Zorah, 
'cause  everybody  will  know  that  you  don't  like  me, 
and  that  is  delightful." 


9 
210  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"'Tain't  true,"— Sandy  shook  his  head  sol- 
emnly. 

"How  do  I  know  it  ain't  true?" 

"  'Cause  I  sez  it." 

"Well,  it's  the  first  time  you  said  it,  and  I  hope 
you  feel  better,"  exclaimed  Zorah  maliciously. 

Gilbert  came  at  this  moment  and  looked  at  his 
friends  amusedly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  two — quarreling 
again?"  he  asked. 

"I  'spect  I've  been  makin'  a  monkey  o'  myself," 
said  Sandy. 

"How  is  it  you  can't  be  together  five  minutes 
without  being  at  daggers'  points?"  said  Gilbert. 

"Sandy's  awful  hard  to  get  along  with,"  spoke 
Zorah  sadly. 

"Mebbe  that's  so.  I  ain't  got  them  soft  ways 
that  goes  with  gals,"  Sandy  admitted  regretfully. 

"Of  course  you  have,  but  Zorah  simply  doesn't 
understand  you,"  said  Gilbert  encouragingly. 

"I  certainly  don't,"  answered  Zorah  firmly. 

"Now  let's  see,"  said  Gilbert,  "if  we  can't  get 
up  a  conversation  between  you  without  ending  in 
a  fight.  Sit  down  Zorah," — and  he  pointed  to  a 
bench  inside  the  arbor. 

The  little  maid  seated  herself  most  demurely. 


"Sandy,  you  sit  there," — pointing  to  the  other 
end  of  the  bench.  "I'll  sit  between  you  and  direct 
the  conversation.  Now,  Sandy,  you  begin,  and 
say  what  I  say." 

"I'll  say  anythin'  yer  sez,  little  codger." 

"So  will  I,"  repeated  the  chatterbox,  not  to  be 
outdone. 

"Now,  we'll  start,"  said  Gilbert.  Imitating 
Sandy's  voice  he  began: 

"Good  morning,  Zorah."  Sandy  solemnly  re- 
peated the  words  after  him. 

"Good  morning,  Sandy," — and  Zorah  mim- 
icked Gilbert,  all  the  time  suppressing  her  mirth. 

Gilbert  intoned  the  following  sentences,  which 
were  alternately  repeated  by  Sandy  and  Zorah, 
much  in  the  style  of  the  Litany. 

"I  hope  your  mother's  well." 

"Very  well,  thank  you." 

"Mine  has  been  sick." 

"How  sad!  nothing  serious,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  no;  just  a  slight  ailment." 

"There  were  a  million  cats  in  our  back  yard 
last  night,  Sandy." 

"A  million?" 

"Well,  a  thousand." 

"A  thousand?" 


212  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Well,  a  hundred." 

"A  hundred?" 

"Well,  our  Tom  and  another  cat." 

"Oh!"  This  exclamation  was  long  drawn-out 
by  the  children,  and  then  the  absurd  dialogue  was 
broken  by  loud  and  uncontrolled  laughter  on  the 
part  of  all  of  them. 

"Now,  you  see  how  easy  it  is  to  get  along  with- 
out quarreling,"  remarked  Gilbert. 

"Don't  yer  think  we  might  git  them  speeches 
down  by  heart,  an'  jest  say  'em  to  each  other 
when  we  meets,  an'  nuthin'  else?"  queried  Sandy 
soberly. 

"Yes,  that's  a  great  idea,  Sandy,"  replied  the 
little  maid.  "But  let's  start  with  five  million  cats, 
and  then  it  will  take  a  little  longer."  Zorah 
looked  roguishly  at  the  elder  boy.  "I  guess  I 
must  go  now,"  she  continued. 

"I've  been  tryin'  to  see  Leander  all  day,"  inter- 
posed Sandy. 

"I'm  going  to  see  him  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,"  volunteered  Zorah. 

"I've  bin  to  his  house  twict  already  to-day  an' 
they  sed  he'd  gone  to  Georgetown  an'  wouldn't 
be  back  till  late  to-night,"  continued  Sandy.  "I 
wants  him  to  know  that  the  game  with  the  Ran- 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  2 1 3 

gers  is  to-morrer.  They  had  ter  move  it  up  a  day 
sooner  on  'count  of  some  shenanagin  'bout  the 
grounds.  Will  yer  please  tell  him  about  it,  Zorah, 
so  he  won't  make  no  mistake?" 

"Certainly,"  she  replied ;  "you  can  depend  upon 
me." 

"Did  Leander  surely  say  he'd  go  sailin'  in  the 
mornin'?"  questioned  Sandy  very  earnestly. 

"No,  not  'specially.  I  said  so  first,  and  then  he 
said  it  after  me." 

"Well,  tell  him  if  he  does  go  to  be  sure  and  be 
back  in  time  fer  the  game,  fer  we  needs  him 
mighty  bad  and  we'd  be  in  a  orful  hole  if  he 
didn't  show  up." 

"Trust  me,  and  good-by.  Trust  me  to  tell  him 
what  you  said," — and  Zorah  departed. 

"Sandy,"  said  Gilbert,  as  they  watched  the  little 
minx  disappear,  "mother  wants  a  hornet's  nest 
for  the  parlor,  and  the  Jedge  has  promised  to  go 
with  me  for  it  day  after  to-morrow.  He  says  he 
knows  where  the  yellow-jackets  build  every  year 
and  we  can  get  a  cracking  good  one." 

"I'd  like  to  go  with  yer,  little  codger,  but  I've 
got  a  lot  er  hustlin'  to  do  to-morrer  an'  the  next 
day;  if  I  git  through  in  time,  though,  I'll  meet 
yer  down  by  the  Burnt  Bridge." 


214  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"All  right,  I'll  expect  to  see  you  when  the  Jedge 
and  I  reach  there  on  our  way  back." 

The  two  boys  picked  up  hammer  and  nails,  and 
work  was  resumed  on  the  arbor. 

"Zorah  made  me  mad  clean  through  this  morn- 
in',"  put  in  Sandy,  "  'cause  she  said  I  fergot  to 
take  her  out  in  the  Lillian.  She'd  orter  know 
I'd  a-called  my  boat  Zorah  if  yer'd  never  had  no 
little  sister.  Girls  kin  rile  yer,  can't  they?" 

"I  wouldn't  mind  Zorah  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Gilbert;  "she's  a  regular  little  pill-garlic.  I'm 
sure  she  likes  you  better  than  anybody  else,  and 
loves  to  put  on  luggs  just  for  the  fun  of  it." 

"Mebbe  that's  all  right,  but  I  don't  think  she 
orter  let  a  plumb  stranger  gobble  up  her  name 
fer  his  boat," — this  with  just  a  tinge  of  petu- 
lance. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  that,"  was  Gilbert's  soothing 
comment.  "My  father  says  that  women  never 
reason  when  they're  angry,  and  I  guess  Zorah 
was  put  out  because  she  felt  herself  slighted." 

Next  morning  Aunt  Harriet,  Crissie  and  Zorah 
went  to  the  Yard  to  meet  Leander.  He  led  the 
way  to  the  wharf,  and  they  embarked  for  the  trip. 

"We'll  go  down  the  river,"  he  said,  "cross  over 
to  Four-Mile  Run,  have  our  lunch  and  return 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  2  1 5 

about  two."  Then  he  raised  the  sail  and  the  boat 
glided  out  into  the  stream. 

They  had  a  delightful  time,  the  luncheon  was 
most  enjoyable,  and  it  was  Zorah's  pleasure  to 
christen  the  new  boat  after  herself,  "Not  with 
soda  pop,  but  with  real  champagne,"  her  aunt  ex- 
plained the  next  day,  with  satirical  emphasis. 

On  the  way  homeward,  the  wind  was  such  that 
Leander  found  it  necessary  to  tack  continually. 
When  opposite  Giesboro  Point  the  boat  suddenly 
ran  on  a  bar,  stuck  hard  and  fast,  and,  in  spite  of 
the  boy's  efforts,  she  would  not  budge.  Worse 
yet,  the  water  was  receding. 

"This  is  tough,  and  no  mistake,"  said  Leander. 
"We  must  make  the  best  of  it,  and  wait  until  the 
tide  changes  and  floats  us  off." 

"How  long  will  that  be?"  anxiously  questioned 
Zorah. 

"I  should  say  in  three  or  four  hours,"  replied 
the  boy. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you;  Sandy  gave  me  a 
message,"  remembered  the  maid  suddenly. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Leander. 

"He  said  to  be  sure  and  not  forget  that  the 
game  with  the  Rangers  was  this  afternoon  at 
three." 


2l6  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"This  afternoon  ?  I  thought  the  game  was  to- 
morrow," he  said. 

"They  made  it  one  day  sooner,  'cause  of  a  mix- 
up  about  the  grounds,  and  Sandy  asked  me  to  tell 
you  without  fail." 

"I'll  never  get  there  now,"  said  the  boy,  much 
worried;  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  for  Sandy  hasn't 
any  one  to  play  first  base,  and  that  makes  it 
mighty  bad  for  the  Eagles." 

"I  meant  to  tell  you  when  we  started,  but  I  for- 
got," excused  the  girl,  beginning  to  realize  the 
trouble  her  forgetfulness  might  cause. 

"I  do  wish  you  had,"  Leander  said  with  great 
earnestness.  "I  wouldn't  have  missed  the  game 
for  anything,  and  you  know  we  could  have  gone 
sailing  any  other  day.  I  hope  Sandy  will  under- 
stand I  didn't  keep  away  for  lack  of  interest  in 
the  club." 

For  three  hours  they  sat,  watching  the  tide  re- 
cede, reach  its  ebb,  and  begin  slowly  to  return. 
At  last  the  boat  floated  off,  but  it  was  beyond 
night-fall  when  Leander  and  his  party  arrived  at 
the  anchorage. 

At  Zorah's  home  they  heard  the  discouraging 
news  that  the  Rangers  had  defeated  the  Eagles, 
because,  as  Dink  said,  "Sandy  had  ter  put  Snarley 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  2 1 7 

Foley  on  first  base,  an'  he  was  the  rottenest  yer 
ever  seen." 

Among  the  "faithfuls"  that  night  at  Jebb's 
store,  the  principal  topic  of  conversation  was  the 
ball  game  and  Leander's  contemptible  action  in 
not  appearing. 

"It's  a  blamed  shame,"  said  the  Jedge.  "The 
Rangers  couldn't  beat  the  Eagles  onct  in  a  thou- 
sand years  if  they  had  their  full  nine  on  hand. 
Here's  poor  Sandy  workin'  like  a  yeller  nigger  to 
git  'em  inter  shape,  an'  Leander  throws  him  down 
an'  never  shows  up." 

"Yer  never  can  put  no  confidence  in  them  'ere 
boys  that  wears  Sunday  clo'es  on  week-days,  an' 
sez  'if  yer  please'  an'  'I  begs  yer  pardon/  every 
five  minits,"  snarled  Tom  Foley. 

"We  don't  want  no  free-gratis-fer-nuthin'  ad- 
vice from  you,  Snarley,"  said  Sandy.  "We'd  a 
won  that  game  if  Leander'd  held  down  first  base. 
When  I  puts  yer  on  the  base  I  know'd  we  wuz  as 
good  as  done  fer,  but  I  had  ter  do  it,  'cause  there 
wuzn't  'nother  snoozer  round  that  knew  straight 
up  an'  down." 

"Yer  ain't  got  no  right  ter  sock  me,"  whined 
Foley.  "Yer  turned  me  off,  an'  didn't  gimme  no 
chance  ter  practise." 


2l8  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  turned  yer  off  'cause  I  knowed  if  I  kep'  yer 
on  we'd  a-stood  as  much  chance  as  a  sausage  in 
a  dog  house,"  retorted  Sandy.  "An'  that's  all 
the  chance  we  did  have." 

"Well,  I  ain't  a  reg'lar  stickin'  plaster  round 
gals,  anyway,"  blurted  Foley. 

"Who's  a  stickin'  plaster?"  asked  Sandy. 

"Leander  Daindridge  is,"  sneered  Snarley. 
"He  jest  goes  off  with  Zorah  Dabney  a-sailin' 
down  the  river,  an'  don't  care  a  tinker's  darn 
whether  the  Eagles  lose  er  win,  so  long  as  he  kin 
stick  near  a  petticoat." 

"If  that's  so,  I'll  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him," 
said  Sandy  angrily. 

"Tell  him  he's  a  stickin'  plaster,  an'  see  how  he 
likes  it,"  dared  the  other,  feeding  Sandy's  indig- 
nation. 

"I'll  tell  him;  don't  fash  yerself." 

"He  know'd  yer  wuz  goin'  ter  play,  so  he  goes 
off  an'  ties  hisself  to  a  piece  er  calico.  Enny 
galoot  what  cares  more  f er  calico  than  he  does  fer 
his  word  is  no  'count  nohow." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  give  a  picayune  fer  a  feller  as 
goes  back  on  his  pals,"  emphasized  Sandy. 

"Yer  wouldn't  tell  him  that  to  his  face,"  hissed 
Tom. 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  219 

"I  would,  if  it  wuz  the  last  word  I  ever  spoke," 
asserted  the  angry  lad  with  determination. 

"Let's  see  if  yer  do" — and  with  that  as  a  part- 
ing shot,  Snarley  walked  out  of  the  store. 

The  next  day  Leander  went  to  explain,  but  was 
told  that  Sandy  was  not  at  home;  he  had  gone 
down  to  the  old  Burnt  Bridge  to  meet  Gilbert. 
As  Leander  sauntered  in  the  direction  of  the  river, 
he  was  met  by  Tom  Foley,  who  shot  the  question 
at  him  at  once. 

"Why  didn't  yer  come  ter  the  game  yester- 
day?" 

"Well,  first  of  all,  I  didn't  know  there  was  one 
until  it  was  too  late,  and  when  I  found  it  out,  my 
boat  was  stuck  on  a  bar,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
move  her  until  nearly  dark." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Tom,  in  his  most  ir- 
ritating tone,  "yer  might  tell  that  ter  the  man  in 
the  moon,  but  I  wouldn't  say  it  to  a  feller  who'd 
cut  his  eye  teeth  an'  know'd  a  thing  er  two." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Leander. 

"Yer  knows  yer  wuz  out  with  the  prettiest  piece 
er  calico  round  here,  an'  yer  couldn't  keep  away 
frum  it." 

"Nonsense.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  the  game 
for  anything,"  insisted  Leander. 


220  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"That's  all  in  me  eye,  sez  Betty  Martin.  Ye're 
stuck  on  the  gals,  an'  the  gals  is  stuck  on  you." 

"You  flatter  me,  Tom,"  laughingly  replied 
Leander. 

"Well,  Sandy  notices  it,  an'  he  sez  yer  nuthin' 
but  a  stickin'  plaster." 

"When  did  he  say  that?"  Leander's  tone  had 
lost  its  laughter. 

"Yesterday  after  the  game,  an'  he  sed  a  lot 
more  things  that  wouldn't  sound  well  in  Sunday- 
school,  an'  he  'lowed  he  wouldn't  give  a  tinker's 
darn  fer  no  boy  ez  would  stick  to  a  petticoat  an' 
go  back  on  his  pals." 

"Did  Sandy  say  that  ?"  Leander's  face  flushed 
violently,  and  anger  shot  from  his  eye. 

"Them's  his  very  words,  as-I-hope-fer-salva- 
tion,"  said  Foley. 

"I'll  give  him  a  chance  to  tell  me  that  to  my 
face," — and  Leander's  teeth  closed  tightly,  as  he 
clenched  his  fists. 

"That's  jest  what  I  sez  to  him,  jest  exactly," 
piled  on  Foley,  "I  sez  to  him,  'Yer  won't  tell  him 
that  to  his  face/  " 

By  this  time  the  two  boys  were  near  the  Burnt 
Bridge. 

There  they  saw  Sandy,  with  nine  or  ten  com- 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  221 

panions,  who  were  heatedly  discussing  the  match 
of  the  day  before. 

Leander  walked  toward  the  group,  and  with 
great  deliberation,  said: 

"Goggles,  I've  been  told  you  said  something 
about  me  yesterday." 

"Well,  what  of  it  ?"  asked  Sandy  half  savagely. 

"There  is  this  much  of  it," — Leander  spoke 
without  a  tremor,  and  with  commanding  gesture, 
— "you've  got  to  take  it  back." 

"I  don't  take  nuthin'  back,"  eying  the  other  boy 
from  head  to  foot,  and  folding  his  arms  in  an 
attitude  of  defiance. 

"Then  you've  got  to  whip  me,  or  I'll  whip 
you."  Leander  spoke  slowly  and  emphatically. 

"That  suits  me  to  a  T,"  said  Sandy,  taking  off 
his  jacket,  rolling  up  his  trousers  and  pulling  off 
his  outer  shirt. 

Leander  slowly  removed  his  tie,  collar  and 
shirt,  and  converted  his  suspenders  into  a  belt. 

Both  boys  threw  their  caps  on  the  pile  of  dis- 
carded clothes. 

"Enny  kickin'  ?"  asked  Sandy. 

"I  never  kick,"  answered  Leander. 

"Nuther  does  I.    Enny  bitin'  ?" 

"I  never  bite." 


222  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Nuther  does  I,"  replied  Sandy.  "Enny  wras- 
'lin'?" 

"As  much  as  you  like." 

"Then  it's  square  up  an'  down,  no  hittin'  under 
the  belt,  an*  wras'lin',  as  I  understands  it,"  said 
Sandy. 

The  boys  present  formed  a  ring,  watched  with 
breathless  interest  every  movement,  and  heard 
with  strained  ears  each  word  that  passed  between 
the  combatants.  The  comparative  prowess  of 
these  two  had  been  cause  for  argument  and  dis- 
pute from  the  day  of  Leander's  advent.  As  the 
opponents  stood  facing  each  other,  the  contrast 
in  their  general  build  was  easily  discerned. 

Leander  was  quite  as  tall  as  Sandy,  possibly  ten 
pounds  heavier,  with  broader  shoulders,  head 
finely  poised,  and  his  black  hair  giving  him  the 
appearance  of  a  Greek  youth  of  the  time  when 
Athens  was  the  Mecca  for  the  lovers  of  sports. 

Sandy  was  longer-armed,  and  appeared  to  be 
only  muscle  and  bone.  His  red  hair  glinted  in 
the  sunlight  and  his  blue  eyes  seemed  brightness 
itself. 

Of  fear  there  appeared  no  trace  in  either  boy. 

Leander  put  up  his  defense  first,  and  Sandy 
began  slowly  to  circle  around  him,  each  boy  spar- 


ring  lightly  and  feeling  his  way  with  extreme 
caution. 

The  onlookers  held  their  breath  and  the  tension 
was  keen. 

Suddenly  Sandy's  left  swung  in  a  semicircle 
and  caught  Leander  just  above  the  eye,  raising  a 
"goose-egg"  almost  immediately.  Leander 
rushed  in  to  clinch,  but  Sandy  side-stepped  and 
avoided  a  malicious  straight  blow  from  Leander's 
right. 

They  moved  about  and  again  Sandy  lunged  for 
his  opponent's  eye,  but  fell  short  and  received  a 
terrific  counter  which  closed  his  right  eye.  Sandy's 
face  puffed  out  perceptibly.  Leander  tried  to  rush 
him  again,  but  without  success.  The  red-headed 
boy  was  feeling  for  Leander's  nose,  and,  with  dex- 
terous in-fighting  jabs,  adroitly  landed  plump 
and  square  on  that  organ,  damaging  it  and  set- 
ting the  blood  flowing  freely. 

For  the  next  two  minutes  they  became  more 
and  more  wary  in  their  tactics,  blocking,  dodging 
and  dropping  cleverly.  Then  Leander  attempted 
to  wear  out  the  lighter  boy  by  falling  heavily 
against  him  in  clinches,  but  Sandy  was  too  nim- 
ble for  him.  Another  clash,  and  Sandy  reached 
Leander's  left  eye,  which  was  soon  closed.  It 


224  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

was  give  and  take  for  the  next  three  minutes, 
with  honors  easy  as  to  points  and  punishment. 

Sandy  was  playing  for  Leander's  left  ear  and 
almost  immediately  had  it  swollen  and  discolored, 
while  Sandy's  blind  side  was  continually  catching 
it  from  Leander's  terrific  rushes.  Leander  tried 
to  reach  Sandy's  jaw,  when  the  freckle-faced  boy 
closed  in,  hooking  a  blow  on  the  other's  good  eye, 
which  went  rapidly  into  mourning.  With  both 
optics  closing  fast,  Leander  rushed  again  and 
clinched.  Sandy  wanted  to  shake  himself  free 
but  could  not,  and,  throwing  his  arms  over  the 
heavier  boy  to 'protect  himself  from  harm,  rolled 
over  on  the  grass  with  Leander. 

The  fighters  were  nearly  used  up,  but  too  game 
to  give  in.  They  struggled  to  pin  each  other's 
shoulders  to  the  ground,  but  at  every  endeavor 
one  or  the  other  would  squirm  out  and  the  battle 
be  renewed. 

A  small  row-boat  landed  at  the  bridge  abut- 
ment, and  the  Jedge  and  Gilbert  stepped  out.  The 
latter,  taking  a  tightly-closed  basket  on  his  arm, 
walked  toward  the  crowd,  which  had  attracted 
his  attention  as  the  boat  neared  the  shore.  He 
saw  that  something  unusual  was  going  on,  but  at 
his  distance  could  not  tell  just  what  it  was. 


SANDY  AND  LEANDER  HAVE  IT  OUT  225 

Once  at  the  ring,  though,  the  Jedge  and  Gilbert 
speedily  realized  what  the  cause  of  the  excitement 
was,  and,  rushing  in  between  the  combatants,  they 
grasped  them  by  the  shoulders  and  tried  to  sepa- 
rate them.  Very  much  excited,  Gilbert  dropped 
his  basket  and  begged  Sandy  and  Leander  to  stop. 
The  fighters,  still  struggling,  staggered  to  their 
feet,  but  again  they  went  over,  striking  the  basket 
with  all  their  weight. 

Out  flew  a  swarm  of  angry  yellow-jackets,  and 
in  an  instant  there  was  a  wild  rush  on  the  part  of 
everybody  to  escape  from  the  hornets'  stings. 

Five  minutes  later,  the  Jedge  and  Gilbert 
helped  Sandy  and  Leander  to  wash  the  blood  and 
mud  from  their  faces.  Bruised,  battered  and 
stung,  the  late  fighters,  with  their  two  friends, 
sat  down  on  the  river-bank. 

"What  wuz  yer  fightin'  'bout?"  asked  the 
Jedge. 

"Hanged  if  I  know,"  answered  Sandy. 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Leander,  trying  to  smile 
through  his  bruises. 

"I'll  bet  some  liar  sed  somethin'  to  start  yer," 
suggested  the  Jedge. 

"Well,  Tom  Foley— "  began  Leander. 

"  'Tain't  necessary  to  say  nuthin'  else,"  inter- 


226  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

rupted  the  Jedge,  "if  Tom  Foley  sed  it,  yer  can 
bet  it's  a  lie.  Shake  hands,  an'  say  ye're  sorry  yer 
started  to  bang  each  other." 

"I'm  willing,"  agreed  Leander,  extending  his 
hand. 

"So  am  I," — and  Sandy  grasped  Leander's 
hand  with  all  the  warmth  of  true  friendship. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JEBB   AND   SHAKESPEARE 

A  marked  change  had  come  over  Mrs.  Foley 
from  the  day  Titcomb  Jebb  had  made  the  avowal 
of  his  love  up  by  the  Sycamores,  along  the  banks 
of  the  beautiful  river.  The  years  of  weary  toil, 
since  the  desertion  of  her  husband,  had  driven  the 
iron  deep  into  her  soul,  and  her  temper  had  suf- 
fered accordingly.  She  had  been  sullen,  morose, 
and  easily  aroused  to  violent  anger,  particularly 
by  the  escapades  of  her  scapegrace  son. 

Now,  however,  she  was  transformed  into  a 
quiet,  non-assertive  being,  whose  voice  was  never 
raised  in  passion,  and  who  went  about  her  work 
in  a  spirit  of  complete  resignation.  She  was  no 
longer  enveloped  in  the  mist  of  distrust,  because 
deep  love  and  the  joy  of  living  were  budding  in 
her  heart. 

The  one  thing  that  interfered  with  her  com- 
plete happiness  was  a  conscientious  scruple 
against  divorce.  While  the  grocer  felt  that  Mrs. 

Foley  was  not  indifferent  to  him,  he  was  unsuc- 
227 


228  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

cessful  when  he  tried  to  persuade  her  to  secure 
her  freedom  in  a  court  of  law.  One  evening, 
when  he  attempted  to  argue  the  matter  with  her, 
Mrs.  Foley's  answer  was: 

"Mr.  Jebb,  I  don't  believe  I  could  marry  unless 
I  knew  Dennis  was  dead,  divorce  or  no  divorce. 
'Tain't  for  my  sake  that  I  take  this  stand.  God 
knows,  if  I  was  free  I'd  be  the  happiest  woman 
in  the  world  to  be  your  wife.  'Tain't  fair  to  you. 
S'pose  that  bummer'd  turn  up.  Ornery  as  he  is, 
he'd  cook  up  some  yarn  to  get  folks'  sympathy, 
and  you'd  never  get  any  peace  on  this  earth,  and 
I'd  blame  myself  for  bringin'  that  mis'ry  on  you." 

"Then  we  must  make  every  effort  to  learn  some- 
thing definite  about  him." 

"That's  what  I  think ;  but  how  are  you  goin'  to 
do  it?  This  is  a  large  country,  and  he  might  be 
tucked  away  ever  so  far,  and  dead  or  alive,  we 
couldn't  find  him/'  she  answered. 

"Suppose  we  go  and  see  Colonel  Franklin  to- 
night, take  him  into  our  confidence  and  ask  his 
advice." 

"I  think  that's  a  good  idea.  Just  wait  till  I 
get  my  bonnet  and  shawl  and  I'll  go  with  you." 

They  found  the  Colonel  in  his  study,  and  in  few 
words  Titcomb  explained  the  object  of  their  visit. 


JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  229 

"How  long  has  your  husband  been  gone?" 
asked  the  lawyer. 

"Five  years,  comin'  Christmas,"  answered  the 
widow. 

"Did  he  say  when  he  left  that  he  would  not  re- 
turn to  live  with  you?" 

"No,  not  exactly.  After  Tom  was  born  Dennis 
would  go  off  a  year  or  two  at  a  time,  then  come 
back  and  say  he  was  sorry.  And  I,  like  a  fool, 
would  always  believe  him.  But  the  night  he  went 
for  good,  he  had  just  got  a  lot  of  money  from  a 
Richmond  gentleman  for  enlistin'  in  the  Southern 
Army,  and  when  I  asked  him  for  some  of  it  to 
pay  the  butcher  and  the  baker  and  the  candle- 
stick-maker, he  ups  and  hit  me,  and  that's  the 
last  I  ever  seen  of  him.  Times  got  so  hard  down 
our  way,  that  work  as  I  would,  I  couldn't  make 
both  ends  meet,  and  I  wrote  to  the  Confederate 
authorities  at  Richmond  askin'  about  Dennis. 
After  a  while  I  got  a  letter  which  said  that  he 
was  a  deserter,  and  had  escaped  through  the 
Union  lines." 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  find  him  ?"  questioned  the 
Colonel,  now  thoroughly  interested. 

"I  did,  but  it  was  nearly  six  months  later  be- 
fore I  heard  anything  about  him.  An  exchanged 


230  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

prisoner, — I  knew  him  because  he  was  born  down 
my  way, — told  me  that  Dennis  was  makin'  a  lot  of 
money  as  a  bounty  jumper,  an'  livin'  in  clover,  an' 
that  he'd  seen  him  in  Baltimore." 

"A  bold  rascal  he  must  have  been,"  interrupted 
the  Colonel. 

"I  took  my  boy  and  walked  clear  to  Baltimore, 
determined  to  make  him  support  us." 

"Did  you  see  him  there?"  interposed  Jebb. 

"No,  I  found  the  provost-marshal  had  nabbed 
him,  and  sent  him  to  the  front.  Finally,  I  traced 
out  his  regiment  and  wrote  to  his  commander." 

"And  what  was  the  reply?"  queried  Colonel 
Franklin. 

"Why,  the  officer  answered  that  by  the  records 
of  the  regiment,  Dennis  Foley  was  missin'  after 
the  first  skirmish,  and  that  nothin'  had  been  seen 
of  him  since." 

"Perhaps  he  was  killed,"  ventured  Jebb. 

"No  such  good  luck,  I  don't  think.  When  the 
war  was  over,  I  met  some  soldiers  from  his  com- 
pany, and  they  said  they  were  sure  he  had  skedad- 
dled." 

"And  what  then?"  laconically  asked  the  law- 
yer. 

"I've  never  heard  another  word  about  him,  one 


JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  231 

way  or  the  other,"  said  the  widow,  as  she  con- 
cluded her  story. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Foley,"  began  the  Colonel,  "there 
are  two  ways  open  for  you  to  be  free,  even  though 
your  husband  should  be  alive.  Under  the  stat- 
utes, three  years  of  wilful  desertion  entitle  you 
to  a  divorce,  or,  if  you  have  not  heard  from  him 
within  five  years,  the  law  assumes  a  civil  death, 
and  you  may  legally  remarry." 

"But  I  can't  set  my  heart  on  marryin'  one  man 
while  the  other  may  be  alive  an'  kickin'.  It  seems 
to  me  to  be  sinful,"  said  the  widow,  shaking  her 
head. 

"But  these  laws  were  made  to  cover  just  such 
cases  as  yours.  He  may  never  turn  up.  He  may 
be  dead.  Even  if  he's  alive,  he  may  be  married. 
If  you  love  Mr.  Jebb,  it  is  your  duty  to  make  him 
happy  by  becoming  his  wife.  And  that  duty  is 
stronger  than  any  weak  scruple  you  may  have 
about  a  man  turning  up  who  legally  has  forfeited 
his  claim  as  a  husband." 

"That  may  all  be  true,  Colonel  Franklin,  but  if 
I  marry  and  that  rapscallion  turns  up,  I'd  never 
forgive  myself  for  bringin'  disgrace  into  Mr. 
Jebb's  life." 

"There  is  one  thing  more  we  can  do,"  sug- 


232  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

gested  the  Colonel.  "Suppose  we  put  advertise- 
ments in  the  leading  newspapers  of  New  York, 
Chicago,  Washington,  Richmond  and  New  Or- 
leans, asking  for  information  regarding  your  hus- 
band." 

"That's  the  very  thing  I  intended  to  suggest," 
said  Jebb,  brightening  up.  "If  he's  dead,  some  of 
I  his  former  comrades  may  know  it  and  communi- 
cate with  us." 

"But  suppose  we  hear  he's  alive?"  faltered  the 
widow. 

"In  that  case  all  doubt  would  be  dispelled,  and 
you  would  be  in  a  position  to  act  intelligently, 
which  seems  almost  impossible  under  present  con- 
ditions," explained  the  lawyer. 

"And  if  we  find  out  he's  dead,  we  can  be  mar- 
ried right  off,  can't  we?"  exclaimed  Jebb  impetu- 
ously. 

"I  want  mighty  good  proof,  Mr.  Jebb,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Foley.  "I've  been  married  once,  and  I  know 
men  use  different  colored  spectacles  after  they're 
spliced  than  they  do  before." 

"I'll  prepare  the  advertisements,"  continued  the 
Colonel,  "and  we'll  see  what  comes  of  it." 

"Very  well,  and  as  soon  as  you  hear  anythin', 
please  let  us  know,"  concluded  the  widow,  who 


JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  233 

then  arose,  bade  the  lawyer  good  night,  and  left 
in  company  with  Jebb. 

When  the  couple  reached  Mrs.  Foley's  house 
they  tarried  a  wrhile  at  the  door,  then  she  asked 
invitingly :  "Won't  you  come  in  and  have  a  glass 
of  lemonade?  It's  pretty  sultry  to-night,  and  I 
think  you'll  enjoy  it." 

Delighted  at  the  invitation,  he  went  in. 

The  little  parlor  bore  evidence  not  only  of  fru- 
gality, but  of  neatness  and  taste.  The  widow 
served  the  lemonade,  and  with  it  some  cake,  and 
the  two  chatted  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Have  you  thought  of  all  I  said  to  you  the 
other  day  ?"  began  Jebb,  recurring  to  the  one  sub- 
ject ever  present  in  his  mind. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Jebb,  I've  thought  of  it  a  thousand 
times.  But  don't  talk  to  me  like  that  again  until 
I'm  free  to  listen." 

"There  can  be  no  harm  in  speaking  about  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Jebb,  it's  jest  misery  to  hear  you  say 
them  lovin'  things,  ev'ry  one  of  them  entitled  to 
an  answer.  I  would  jest  like  to  scream  out  what 
my  heart  sez,  but  then  I  remember  Dennis,  and  I 
freeze  up." 

"But,  surely,  the  day  must  come  when  you  can 
listen  and  speak." 


234  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Let  us  hope  so.  Suppose,  when  you  want  to 
say  somethin'  real  nice,  you  jest  talk  to  Juno  and 
I'll  answer  for  her,  bein'  that  she  ain't  here,"  sug- 
gested the  widow. 

"That's  splendid,"  he  said,  "and  reminds  me, 
I  have  a  wayward  thought  written  only  yester- 
day, and  with  Juno's  kind  permission,  I'll  read  it." 

"Do,  Mr.  Jebb.  I've  jest  been  hungry  to  hear 
about  Juno.  I  mean  Juno  has  been  hungry  to 
hear  about  Juno,  for  more  than  a  week." 

"I  call  this—" 

"Mr.  Jebb,  jest  a  minute,"  she  broke  in,  "be- 
fore you  read  your  new  piece  of  po'try  to  me  I 
want  to  ask  you  a  promise." 

"Ask  me,"  he  cried,  delighted  to  have  the  op- 
portunity to  serve  her.  "Ask  me,  command  me. 
There's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  and  do  it 
gladly." 

"Mr.  Jebb,  what  I  ask  is,  whichever  way  this 
thing  comes  out  'bout  Dennis,  even  if  the  Lord 
wills  you  and  I  must  separate  an'  go  our  own 
ways,  I  want  to  ask  you," — her  voice  lowered, — 
"that  you  don't  let  anybody  else  be  Juno." 

"Any  one  else  be  Juno !"  he  exclaimed  passion- 
ately, "any  one  else  be  Juno !  There's  no  one  in 
the  world  that  could  be  Juno  but  you." 


JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  235 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Jebb,"  Mrs.  Foley  replied,  "you'll 
make  me  stuck  up  if  you  talk  that  way.  I  know 
the  world's  world  is  very  big  and  mine  is  very 
small,  but  whatever  happens  let  me  be  to  you 
Juno  till  I  die." 

"You  shall  be  Juno  till  I  die,  till  you  die,  and 
till  the  Judgment  Day."  He  spoke  in  all  earnest- 
ness. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Jebb,  for  interrupting  jest  as 
I  always  do.  Juno's  waiting ;  hurry  'long."  She 
sat  in  an  attitude  of  eager  expectancy. 

"I  call  this  Juno's  Confession,"  he  said,  "de- 
scriptive, as  it  were,  of  certain  incidents  in  our 
lives  lately  enacted !" 

"  Oh  my  heart  was  full  of  anguish, 
And  a  tear  rolled  down  my  cheek, 
As  I  heard  your  sad  confession, 
Made  on  Tuesday  of  last  week. 
There  was  no  balm  in  Gilead, 
When  I  heard  you  sadly  say 
That  you  must  not,  dare  not,  listen 
To  my  loving  roundelay. 

Juno,  oh  how  I  love  thee, 

Juno,  oh  how  I  love, 

Juno, 

You  know, 

To  know 

Juno, 

Is  like  a  dream  from  above. 


236  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

On  that  most  eventful  Tuesday, 
Sandy  showed  what  he  could  do, 
With  the  help  of  little  Gilbert, 
I  was  saved  and  so  were  you. 
From  the  dark  and  angry  waters, 
We  were  yanked  without  delay. 
'Twould  have  been  quite  awkward  for  us 
If  the  boys  had  kept  away. 

Juno,  oh  how  I  love  you, 

Juno,  oh  how  I  love, 

Juno, 

You  know, 

To  know 

Juno, 

Is  like  a  dream  from  above." 

"I  do  declare,  Mr.  Jebb,  you  orter  been  one 
of  them  reporters  on  the  newspapers;  you  tell 
a  thing  jest  as  it  happens,  and  that's  more'n  they 
do  mostly.  And  while  you're  tellin'  it,  it's  still 
beautiful  po'try,  all  the  time.  I  could  go  on  a 
list'nin'  to  you  till  the  cows  come  home.  I  can  see 
Sandy  a-swimmin'  for  dear  life  and  a-hollerin', 
'Keep  up,  Mr.  Jebb ;  don't  get  scared,  Mrs.  Foley.' 
When  you  were  readin',  it  seemed  like  as  if  we 
were  in  the  water  flounderin'  round  and  swallerin' 
a  gallon  ev'ry  minute.  It's  a  mystery  how  you 
can  tell  it  so  clear  and  never  forget  it's  po'try." 

"Modesty  forbids  me  speaking,  Mrs.  Foley, 
but  you  know  what  Shakespeare  says : 


JEBB  AND  SHAKESPEARE  237 

" '  The  form  of  things  unknown  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothingness 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name.'  " 

Jebb  was  floating  on  air  because  the  one  soul  he 
loved  appreciated  his  poetic  efforts. 

"Shakespeare's  all  right,  but  I  don't  ketch  his 
pieces  like  I  do  yours.  It  beats  me  how  you  can 
do  it,"  the  widow  said  wonderingly.  "Nothin' 
seems  po'try  in  this  world  till  you  write  about  it. 
Them  words  like  'roundelay'  and  'well-a-day'  are 
mighty  soothin'  to  a  tired  woman,  and  I  jest  say 
them  over  and  over  at  night,  and  drop  to  sleep 
afore  I  know  it,  and  that  on  the  top  of  a  hard 
day's  wash,  too.  It's  simply  wonderful." 

He  rose  and  clasped  her  hands.  Her  full  ripe 
lips  and  limpid  eyes  would  have  tempted  an  an- 
chorite. To  him  she  seemed  the  embodiment  of 
all  that  was  beautiful.  With  a  sudden,  uncon- 
trollable impulse,  he  pressed  forward  as  if  to  kiss 
her. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Jebb,"  she  cried,  shielding  her 
face,  "not  yet,  not  yet.  If  I'm  ever  to  be  kissed 
again  it  will  be  by  you,  but  I  can't  now,  you  know 
I  can't.  Please  go  now ;  don't  you  see  I'm  blush- 
ing?"— and  she  laughed  confusedly. 

The  widow  stood  at  the  door  until  his  footsteps 


238  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

died  in  the  distance.  An  hour  later  she  was  on 
her  knees,  and  let  us  hope  that  God  in  His  wisdom 
was  listening  to  her  prayer,  so  beautiful  in  its  sim- 
plicity, so  pure  in  its  sentiment. 


CHAPTER  XIV, 

JOHN 


About  three  weeks  after  Colonel  Franklin  had 
inserted  the  newspaper  advertisements  asking  for 
information  regarding  Dennis  Foley,  the  law  firm 
of  Franklin  and  Hayes  received  the  following 
letter  : 

Dere  sur  i  red  a  pece  in  a  Chicago  Paper  bout 
a  man  whos  name  wuz  denis  foley  who  wuz  a  old 
frend  of  mine  denis  foley  who  i  node  was  born 
down  on  the  patuxin  river  in  merrylan  an  tole  me 
so  over  and  over  agin  he  had  a  wife  merry  but  he 
called  her  molly  an  a  sun  named  tomas  which  wuz 
the  only  sun  he  had  an  he  called  him  torn  likewise 

the  only  child  he  had  as  he  had  no  gals  and  never 

• 

had  none  he  tole  me  over  an  over  agin  that  that 
wuz  so  he  went  south  an  jined  the  army  but  didnt 
like  the  grub  an  konkluded  hed  leeve  wich  he  did 
do  the  fust  chance  he  got  wich  wuz  one  nite  when 
he  wuz  dooin  pickit  dooty  he  went  up  north  after 
he  wuz  south  an  jined  the  northern  army  as  the 
grub  didnt  sute  him  he  left  an  kame  west  me  bein 
239 


240  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

with  him  an  me  an  him  traveld  togethur  it  is  a 
sad  story  but  i  am  sorry  to  say  i  kant  say  no  more 
bout  him  until  i  here  from  you  an  i  am  yourz 
trooly  J  or  John  Hildey. 

p  s  eny  further  infermashun  will  be  cherfuly 
tolld  you  to  yure  fase  i  am  a  pore  man  an  need 
muny  mity  bad  you  can  rite  me  care  of  J  or  John 
Hildey  council  bluffs  ioway 

Colonel  Franklin  sent  for  Jebb  and  the  widow 
at  once,  and  read  them  the  letter. 

"This  man's  description  tallies  to  a  dot  with 
Dennis,  and  I'm  sure  he  must  know  him,"  said 
the  widow. 

"I  will  write  immediately  and  ask  him  to  come 
on,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  more  trouble  than  I'm  worth," 
half-heartedly  faltered  the  widow. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Jebb.  "It  may  be  pos- 
sible to  find  out  from  this  man  whether  Foley  is 
still  alive,  and  thus  clear  up  the  doubt  in  your 
mind." 

It  was  agreed  that  Colonel  Franklin  should  send 
a  letter  to  Hildey,  requesting  him  to  come  to  Pipe- 
town.  He  did  so  and  received  this  reply: 


JOHN  HILDEY  241 

dere  sur  yure  letter  i  reseavd  wich  you  want 
to  no  bout  denis  foley  my  ole  frend  and  komrad 
ime  a  very  por  man  an  kant  aford  to  do  nuthin 
fur  nothin  but  if  U  will  garante  to  pay  me  2  hun- 
derd  dolors  an  me  expences  to  yure  plais  an  back 
i  will  kum  on  an  tel  you  all  bout  denis  foley 
what  he  tole  me  over  an  over  agin  an  what  I  no 
anser  as  before  an  yurze  trooly 

J  or  John  Hildey 

The  lawyer  answered  with  an  offer  to  pay  Hil- 
dey's  expenses  on  arrival,  and  two  hundred  dol- 
lars for  the  information  he  claimed  to  have.  The 
return  post  brought  the  following: 

i  will  kum  on  an  tel  you  what  I  no  bout  denis 
foley  if  U  will  sen  me  a  ralerode  ticket  an  muny 
fer  my  bed  an  grub  fer  the  time  i  luze  an  2  hun- 
derd  dolors  befor  i  start  to  tel  U  my  story  in  yure 
hous  dont  rite  no  more  unles  U  mene  biznes  my 
time  is  to  valable  to  waist  it  ritin  leterz  fer  nuthin 
yurze  trooley  J  or  John  Hildey  adres  as  befor 

The  Colonel  acted  at  pnce,  and  despatched  the 
following  letters: 


242  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Messrs.  Smith  &  Burnsy,  Atty's  at  Law,  Council 

Bluffs,  la.: 

Gentlemen:  There  is  a  man  residing  in  your 
city  named  John  Hildey,  with  whom  we  have 
been  in  communication  regarding  certain  facts 
required  by  us. 

It  is  necessary  for  him  to  come  here  and  give 
the  information  in  person.  We  enclose  draft  for 
One  Hundred  Dollars  which  we  request  that  you 
apply  to  the  purchase  of  his  railroad  ticket  and 
necessary  expenses  for  traveling.  Kindly  protect 
us  in  this  outlay  to  the  best  of  your  ability. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 
Franklin  &  Hayes,  Attorneys  at  Law. 

Mr.  John  Hildey,  Council  Bluffs,  la. : 

Dear  Sir:  Kindly  call  upon  Messrs.  Smith  & 
Burnsy,  Attorneys  at  Law,  of  your  city,  who  will 
furnish  you  with  transportation  here  and  neces- 
sary expenses  for  traveling.  We  request  that  you 
start  at  once.  We  agree  to  pay  you  Two  Hun- 
dred Dollars  for  the  information  you  say  you  can 
give.  Very  sincerely, 

Franklin  &  Hayes. 

These  letters  called  forth  the  following  replies : 


JOHN  HILDEY  243 

Messrs.  Franklin  &  Hayes,  Attorneys  at  Law. 

Dear  Sirs :  The  party  named  in  your  inclosure 
of  the  28th  came  to  our  office  to-day.  We  have 
arranged  for  him  to  leave  on  the  midnight  train, 
and  have  placed  his  ticket  and  traveling  expenses 
in  the  hands  of  the  passenger  agent  of  the  road  in 
this  city.  We  also  gave  him  Ten  Dollars  as 
pocket  money,  and  hope  he  will  turn  up  all  right, 
although  we  are  positive  he  belongs  to  the  genus, 
"old  bum,"  and  therefore  is  a  most  unreliable 
customer.  He  showed  us  a  letter  in  which  you 
agreed  to  pay  him  Two  Hundred  Dollars  for  cer- 
tain information  he  possesses,  and  insisted  before 
he  would  consent  to  go,  that  we  give  him  a  letter 
indorsing  you  as  a  thoroughly  reliable  firm, 
which  we  did.  Very  truly, 

Smith  &  Burnsy. 

P.  S.  In  addition,  we  took  upon  ourselves  the 
purchase  of  a  suit  of  clothes  for  him,  as  he  was 
most  unpresentable  when  he  came  to  our  office. 

mister  franklin  an  hayes  esq  dere  surs  i  am 
kuming  on  the  ralerode  an  hope  U  will  have  the 
2  hundred  dolors  reddy  when  i  git  thair.  J  or 
John  Hildey  council  bluffs  ioway 


244  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Five  days  later  the  office  boy  announced  to 
Colonel  Franklin  a  man  named  Hildey. 

"Show  him  in,"  said  the  lawyer. 

An  unkempt  specimen  of  humanity  slouched 
into  the  office  and  stood  hat  in  hand,  waiting  to 
be  addressed. 

"You  are  John  Hildey,  of  Council  Bluffs?" 

"That's  me  name,  Guv'ner,  an'  I  got  yer  letters 
regardin'  me  fr'en'  Dennis  Foley,  an'  this  'ere  one 
from  the  lawyers  in  my  town.  It  sez  yer  respon- 
sible to  cough  up  the  two  hundred  bones  yer 
promised." 

"It's  all  right,  Hildey ;  you'll  get  your  two  hun- 
dred at  the  proper  time.  But  sit  down;  I  want 
to  talk  to  you,  and  expect  you  to  answer  me  truth- 
fully." 

"How  about  the  rhino?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  I've  given  my  word 
that  I'll  pay  you  for  certain  information,  and  I'll 
do  it;  but  first  I  must  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"That's  all  right,  Guv'ner,  fer  you ;  but  I  gits 
lock-jawed  when  I  don't  see  de  tin,"  blared  out 
the  bum. 

"The  one  question,  the  all  important  one;  the 
one  we  brought  you  here  for  is,  whether  Foley  is 
alive  or  dead." 


JOHN  HIUDEY  245 

"I'm  no  foo-foo,  yer  don't  s'pose  I'se  goin' 
ter  tell  yer  that,  afore  I  sees  the  color  of  yer 
money,  do  yer?"  rasped  the  stranger. 

"No,  nor  do  I  intend  to  ask  that  question  before 
I  give  you  the  money.  What  I  want  to  know,  for 
the  present,  is  more  about  Dennis  Foley.  First 
of  all,  I  must  be  absolutely  sure  that  the  man 
whom  you  knew  as  Dennis  Foley  is  the  one  we 
are  seeking." 

"Fire  away,  Guv'ner,  spout  yer  questions.  I've 
got  my  ear  to  the  groun'." 

"Tell  me  anything  you  know  about  Dennis 
Foley,  beyond  what  you  stated  in  your  letter." 

"Well,  Guv'ner,  I  fust  met  Dennis  up  in  Phila- 
delphy.  He  jest  vamoosed  from  de  Confed'rit 
Army  an'  skipped  from  Ohio,  where  he  worked 
de  bounty  racket  until  it  got  too  hot  fer  him. 
Then  he  landed  in  Philadelphy  wher'  I  met  him 
an'  we  gits  to  be  great  fr'en's.  We  kind  er  got 
together  in  a  minit,  fer  we  seemed  borned  fer 
each  other;  our  dispositions  was  so  tender- 
hearted. We  worked  up  a  little  plan  to  make 
some  money  easy.  I  played  bounty  broker  an' 
he  played  bounty  jumper,  an'  we  jest  raked  in 
the  rhino  an'  had  a  great  time.  He  must  'a' 
enlisted  in  ev'ry  city  from  Baltimore  to  Boston 


246  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

an'  back,  afore  the  provost-marshal  grabbed  him 
an'  sent  him  to  the  front,  an'  me  a-goin'  wid  him 
out  er  fr'endly  feelin's. 

"Our  reg'ment  laid  round  waitin'  to  git  into  a 
scrimmage,  an'  one  night  when  nobody  wuz 
lookin'  an'  we  wuz  doin'  pickit  duty,  we  seen  the 
Johnny  Rebs  a-crawlin'  up,  an'  we  makes  a  bee 
line  fer  nowher'  in  partic'lar.  'Twuz  a  mighty 
good  thing  fer  us  that  we  did,  fer  them  Johnny 
Rebs  got  clean  up  an'  knocked  the  spots  out  er 
our  reg'ment." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  ran  away 
without  sounding  an  alarm,  and  arousing  your 
comrades?"  asked  Colonel  Franklin,  shocked  at 
this  avowal  of  cowardice. 

"We  jes'  got  'way,  that's  all,  an'  let  the  other 
fellers  fin'  out  the  Johnny  Rebs  wuz  comin',"  vol- 
unteered the  fellow,  unabashed.  "Then  me  an' 
Dennis  traveled  all  over  the  country,  many  a  night 
hidin'  in  a  haystack,  or  some  other  cozy  comer. 
He  tol'  me  'bout  his  ol'  home  on  the  Pawtuxin 
River ;  'bout  his  wife  who  wuz  pretty,  an'  that  she 
had  blue  eyes  an'  black  hair,  an'  wuz  put  up  like  the 
picture  of  the  Goddess  o'  Liberty,  an'  that  he  had 
a  boy  by  the  name  of  Tom ;  that  his  wife's  maiden 
name  wuz  Molly  Madigan,  an'  she  wuz  born  in 


JOHN  HILDEY  247 

Maryland,  an'  that  he  had  run  away  with  her 
when  she  wuz  still  goin'  to  school,  an'  the  boy 
wuz  born  before  she  wuz  eighteen." 

"There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  this  Dennis 
Foley  you  describe  is  the  very  man  we  want.  Now 
if  you  will  come  here  to-night  at  eight  o'clock,  I 
will  have  the  money  for  you;  also  the  two  per- 
sons who  are  most  interested  in  this  matter." 

"All  right,  Guv'ner,  I'll  be  here  on  time," — 
and  the  tramp  shuffled  out. 

The  lawyer  immediately  communicated  with 
Mr.  Jebb  and  Mrs.  Foley,  and  at  the  hour  named 
the  four  were  seated  in  his  office.  Colonel  Frank- 
lin spoke  first. 

"Mrs.  Foley,  this  man,  John  Hildey,  I  am  con- 
fident, knows,  or  did  know,  your  husband  thor- 
oughly. His  story  coincides  with  yours,  and  I 
now  propose  to  ask  him  certain  questions."  Then 
turning  to  the  vagabond,  he  asked : 

"Do  you  know,  at  this  time,  whether  Dennis 
Foley  is  dead  or  alive?" 

"I  cert'nly  do,  Guv'ner,  an'  when  I  sees  the  coin 
I'll  tell  yer." 

"And  you'll  give  all  further  knowledge  you 
possess  on  this  subject?" 

"That's  it,  Boss;  I'se  got  all  the  knowledge 


248  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

right  here  in  my  coco'nut,  an'  jest  as  soon  as  I 
sees  the  rhino,  I'll  open  my  potato  trap  an'  give 
it  to  yer,  gospel  truth." 

The  Colonel  counted  out  two  hundred  dollars, 
and  handed  them  to  Hildey. 

"As  a  Notary  Public,  Hildey,  I  ask  that  you  be 
sworn.  Do  you,  John  Hildey,  swear  that  what 
you  say  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth, — so  help  you,  God?" 

"I  do,"  said  the  fellow  with  mock  solemnity. 

"Do  you  or  did  you  know  Dennis  Foley  of 
Maryland,  born  near  Nottingham  on  the  Patux- 
ant  River?" 

"I  know'd  him  well." 

"Were  you  in  the  Northern  Army  together?" 

"We  wuz  that." 

"Did  you  leave  the  Army  about  the  same 
time?" 

"We  cert'nly  did  do  that." 

"Did  you  travel  together?" 

"We  wuz  as  close  as  a  postage  stamp  on  a 
watermelon." 

"Tell  us  what  you  know  of  Dennis  Foley,  from 
the  day  you  left  the  Army  until  the  present 
time."  Franklin  sat  back  in  the  chair,  awaiting 
the  narrative. 


JOHN  HILDEY  249 

"Well,  sir,  me  an'  Dennis  concluded  to  travel 
West — 'Go  West,  young  man,  go  West' — sez 
Horace  Greeley,  so  we  goes  West.  We  \vuz 
havin'  a  mighty  fine  time  seein'  the  sights,  when 
one  night  it  was  snowin'  an'  jest  as  cold  as  char- 
ity, an'  poor  Dennis  got  chilled  a-ridin'  on  a  slow 
freight.  Pneumoney  sets  in,  an'  I  nussed  an' 
nussed  him  but  he  didn't  git  no  better,  an'  in  a 
little  while  he  drooped  an'  calls  me  to  him,  an 
sez:  'Pard,  'tain't  fer  me  to  stay  here  longer  in 
this  vale  of  tears ;  'tain't  fer  me  to  see  my  Molly, 
or  my  little  chil',  which  we  calls  Tom,  no  more. 
Pard,  cut  off  a  lock  o'  me  hair,  an'  if  yer  ever  sees 
my  Molly,  give  it  to  her  with  my  love.'  An'  then 
he  falls  back  a-moanin',  sayin',  'Molly,  Mary, 
Tom,  I'm  a-comin,  I'm  a-comin'/  an'  then  he  wuz 
dead  an'  dun  fer."  The  old  bum  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes,  and  added,  "He  wuz  me  only  fren'." 

He  brought  from  his  inside  pocket  a  little 
leather  bag,  which  he  opened  and  handed  to  Mrs. 
Foley.  It  contained  a  lock  of  hair. 

She  looked  at  it  intently,  the  tears  welling  in 
her  eyes,  and  with  great  emotion,  she  said : 

"God  knows,  that's  his  hair.  I  could  tell  it 
among  a  thousand.  The  Lord  rest  his  soul,  and 
may  he  sleep  in  peace." 


250  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Amen!"  religiously  whispered  the  old  vaga- 
bond. 

"You  were  with  him  when  he  died?"  asked 
Jebb  softly,  moved  by  the  stranger's  touching 
story. 

"A  holdin'  him  in  me  arms,"  said  Hildey,  ap- 
parently choking  with  emotion. 

"How  long  since  he  died?"  asked  the  Colonel 
gravely. 

"Must  be  about  two  years,  now,"  said  the 
tramp,  tapping  his  forehead. 

"Where  is  he  buried?" 

"Please  don't  ask  me  that." 

"Why  not?"  said  Franklin,  wondering. 

Hildey  leaned  over,  looked  theatrically  into 
the  faces  of  the  listening  group,  and  said  in  a 
hoarse  whisper : 

"Grave  robbers!    Night  doctors!" 

"Horrible!"  they  all  cried,  and  the  widow 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence,  which  Colonel  Franklin  broke 
with  the  words : 

"I  will  put  your  statements  into  legal  form,  and 
have  you  swear  to  them.  Then,  to-morrow,  I 
want  you  to  go  with  me  and  see  the  Judge  of  the 
Orphans'  Court." 


JOHN  HIU>EY  251 

"All  right,  Guv'ner;  in  course  yer  pays  me  fer 
extry  work  ?"  said  the  visitor. 

"Yes,  I'll  pay  you  for  any  service  that  you  ren- 
der." 

Jebb  and  the  widow  talked  long  and  earnestly 
with  Hildey,  and  Mrs.  Foley  questioned  him  over 
and  over  again.  Shortly  after,  she  and  the  grocer 
arrived  at  her  little  home,  and  both  went  in. 

"Mr.  Jebb,"  said  she,  "there  ain't  no  doubt 
from  what  we  have  heard  to-night  that  Dennis 
has  gone  to  his  long  home.  He  was  away  from 
me  so  much,  from  almost  after  Tom  was  born, 
that  he  has  left  nothin'  but  the  recollection  of  a 
very  unhappy  life.  I  have  always  felt  that  divorce 
was  wrong,  and  have  allowed,  as  you  makes  your 
bed  in  the  beginnin',  so  you  lays  in  it  to  the  bitter 
end.  If  he  was  alive  an'  kickin',  I  wouldn't  touch 
him  with  a  forty-foot  pole,  but,  honest  Injun,  I 
don't  believe  you  could  have  ever  persuaded  me 
to  marry  you,  if  we  hadn't  found  out  Dennis  was 
dead.  Mr.  Jebb,  you  said  a  lot  o'  cheerin'  and 
lovin'  words  to  me,  and  the  world  seems  much 
brighter  since  you  started  to  sayin'  'em,  now  I'm 
goin'  to  say  somethin'  to  you. 

"When  I  first  knew  you,  I  was  pleased  when 
you  sat  next  to  me  in  the  hoss-cars  goin'  up  to 


252  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

market,  but  now  I'd  be  proud  to  sit  by  your  side 
on  a  curbstone  and  not  a-goin'  nowhere.  You 
love  me,  and  I  know  it,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  pull 
away  from  you  now,  and  I  am  yours  for  the 
askin'." 

She  leaned  forward,  her  wonderful  eyes  ten- 
der in  their  gaze,  her  cheeks  aglow  and  warm  in 
the  strength  of  her  simple  life,  and  thereupon 
they  became  engaged. 

When  John  Hildey  left  the  Colonel's  office  he 
went  direct  to  his  lodgings  near  the  railroad  sta- 
tion and  started  to  write  a  letter.  After  a  long 
struggle  it  was  finished,  and  the  envelop  bore 
this  address: 
Mr.  Dennis  Foley,  Esq., 

To  be  called  fer, 
Post  Orfise, 

Council  Bluffs. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHITE   HORSES   AND   CHARIOTS 

Dennis  Foley  was  a  self-elected  Ishmaelite,  his 
hand  against  every  man  and  every  man's  hand 
against  him.  He  was  of  the  lowest  stratum  of 
that  peripatetic  community  that  sprang  into  ex- 
istence after  the  Civil  War,  now  known  as 
"tramps."  In  the  cases  of  some  of  these  aimless 
wanderers  there  may  have  been  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances, for  perhaps,  through  no  fault  of  their 
own,  they  found  themselves  out  of  tune  with 
the  new  conditions.  But  Foley  was  a  vagabond, 
bummer  and  thief  from  choice. 

The  advertisement  asking  for  information  con- 
cerning himself  came  to  his  notice,  as,  in  company 
with  Hildey,  he  was  working  Council  Bluffs  in 
the  many  ways  known  to  the  gentry  of  the  road. 
The  scheme  of  answering  the  advertisement  and 
pf  having  Hildey  go  to  Pipetown  to  announce 
him  as  dead  was  of  Foley's  own  concoction. 

Hildey  had  been  gone  fully  two  weeks,  and 
Foley  was  becoming  impatient  for  news  from 
253 


254  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

him.  From  morning  till  night  he  haunted  the 
post-office,  until  at  last  a  letter  was  handed  him 
and  with  it  he  hurried  back  to  the  miserable  shanty 
where  he  slept.  With  feverish  eagerness  he  tore 
open  the  missive  which  read  thus : 

my  old  pard  as  i  never  brakes  no  promis  i  rites 
to  tel  yer  all  about  it  when  i  get  hear  i  sees  the 
bloke  as  rote  me  the  letters  he  is  a  lawer  an 
started  to  ax  me  all  bout  U  he  sez  bekauze  he 
wanted  to  be  shure  U  waz  the  man  i  gave  him 
yer  histry  jest  as  U  tole  me  without  no  hitch  an 
it  tallied  with  his  to  a  t  he  had  yure  wife  an  a 
galoot  they  call  jeb  to  kum  to  his  orfise  an  with 
the  tearze  kumin  to  my  eyze  i  sez  pore  denis  foley 
is  ded  these  2  yerze  jest  as  U  tole  me  to  say  an 
when  I  gave  them  the  lock  of  yure  hair  yure  gal 
jest  cride  an  sed  god  res  his  sole  an  may  he  sleep 
in  pece  i  axed  them  why  they  wanted  to  no  an  i 
foun  out  the  groser  wants  ter  mary  yure  wife 
shes  a  hummer  jest  as  U  sed  she  wuz  an  as  purty 
as  a  painted  post  yer  wife  wuz  willin  to  mary 
him  provided  she  new  U  wuz  ded  so  there  goin 
to  git  maryd  kauze  yer  ded  but  she  wouldener  if 
U  werent  ded  an  she  tole  me  that  hersef  over  an 
over  agin  i  seed  yer  boy  torn  hes  jest  like  you 


WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS         255 

as  2,  pees  in  a  pod   if  yer  wasnt  ded  i  wood  luv 
to  tel  him  so.    yure  old  fren 

John  399  N.  J.  ave  this  place. 

Foley  looked  through  the  envelop  carefully, 
shook  it,  swore  a  chain  of  linked  blasphemy,  and 
then  exclaimed : 

"Burn  his  soul;  he  don't  say  nuthin'  'bout  the 
rhino.  'Tain't  no  use,  yer  can't  trust  nobody. 
I'll  jest  send  him  a  scorcher  an'  if  he  don't  come 
back  an'  pony  up  my  share,  I'll  go  on  an'  break  his 
infernal  neck,  if  I  has  to  swing  fer  it." 

Several  letters  passed  between  the  scamps,  but 
in  his  replies  Hildey  was  careful  to  say  nothing 
of  the  money,  and  Foley  became  desperate.  He 
determined  to  go  to  Pipetown. 

About  a  month  after  Hildey's  interview  with 
Colonel  Franklin,  Dennis  Foley,  half-drunk,  and 
quarrelsome,  confronted  his  chum  at  his  miser- 
able lodging  house. 

"Where's  me  money?"  he  shouted,  trying  to 
grasp  his  partner  by  the  throat. 

Hildey  eluded  him,  and  began  to  talk  in  a 
soothing  tone. 

"Set  down,  pard;  don't  git  excited.  Let  me 
tell  yer  all  'bout  it,  but  afore  we  go  ahead,  take  a 


256  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

drink  of  good  old  buck-juice," — and  he  handed 
a  long  black  bottle  to  Foley,  who  drank  deeply. 

"Yer  a  nice  pardner,"  sneered  Foley.  "I  puts 
yer  on  the  track  to  make  a  honest  penny,  an'  yer 
goes  back  on  me  an'  don't  divvy  as  yer  prter 
have." 

"I  wuz  a-goin'  to  bring  yer  all  the  rhino,  Den- 
nis, s'elp  me  bob,  I  wuz,  if  I  hadn't  had  a  dream. 
1  dreams  three  times  han'  runnin'  I  wuz  a-ridin' 
on  a  golden  chariot,  with  beautiful  white  horses 
an'  the  prettiest  tails  yer  ever  seen." 

"Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  said  the 
other. 

"Nuthin',  as  I  kin  see  now,  but  a  lot  jest  then. 
I  wuz  on  my  way  to  the  railroad  station  to  come 
out  ter  yer  with  the  tin  an'  I  runs  up  ag'inst  a 
policy  shop,  an'  right  afore  my  eyes  comes  the 
dream  ag'in,  an'  so  I  sez,  why  not  bring  Dennis 
twict  as  much  ?  I  goes  in  an'  plays  a  hunderd  on 
'horses'  an'  loses ;  then  I  plays  t'other  hunderd  on 
'gigs,'  an'  durned  if  I  didn't  lose  ag'in,  an'  then 
I  wuz  broke.  I  can't  get  it  through  my  coco'nut, 
no  way  I  looks  at  it,  'bout  that  'ere  dream.  It 
wuz  horses  an'  chariots,  an'  it  means  yer  can't 
lose  if  yer  plays  'em  right.  But  when  I  tells  the 
policy  man  'bout  it,  he  sed  mebbe  it  was  a  steam 


WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS         257 

engine  I  dreamed  an'  no  numbers  didn't  go  with 
that." 

"Yer  a  liar,  an'  yer  knows  it;  yer  blow'd  the 
money  in  on  whisky,  an'  yer  ain't  man  'nuff  to 
say  so.  I've  got  half  a  mind  to  break  yer  bloody 
neck," — and  Foley  arose,  as  if  he  meant  mischief. 

"Don't  do  nuthin'  brash,  Dennis,  'cause  yer'd  be 
awful  sorry  if  yer  hurt  yer  old  pard,"  pleaded 
Hildey. 

"What  yer  doin'  now  to  keep  a-goin'  ?"  queried 
the  other,  quieting  down  for  the  moment. 

"As  far  as  the  galoot  an'  the  lawyer  is  con- 
cerned, I've  milked  'em  dry,  but  I'm  doin'  a  little 
in  the  sneak  line,  an'  with  your  help,  we  may  pick 
up  some  good  things  round  here  in  the  houses. 
'Tain't  no  use  tryin'  the  German  count  driven 

from  home,  or  the  Irish  lord  what  can't  go  back, 

i 
'cause  the  peelers  grab  yer  here  an'  run  yer  in  the 

chain-gang,  even  if  yer  sed  yer  wuz  the  Czar  of 
Rooshy.  I've  seen  some  invitin'  houses  which 
don't  have  no  padlocks  on  their  back  doors,  where 
we  might  do  some  bizness." 

"But  have  yer  seen  this  man  what  wants  ter 
marry  my  gal,  or  the  lawyer  what  wrote,  sence  yer 
to!'  'em  I  wuz  dead?" 

"That  feller  what's  goin'  ter  splice  with  yer 


258  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

gal  wuz  mighty  'commodatin'  at  first,  gives  me 
lots  o'  grub  an'  knickknacks,  an'  treats  me 
mighty  white,  but  I  comes  into  his  place  full  as  a 
goat  four  nights  runnin',  an'  one  night  when  he 
wuzn't  lookin'  I  tho't  I'd  tap  his  till  fer  a  bundle 
of  shin  plasters,  an'  while  he  didn't  have  me  pulled 
in,  he  invited  me  to  stay  'way." 

"How  'bout  the  lawyer,  that  snoozer  Frank- 
lin?" 

"He's  a  heartless  feller.  He's  got  no  'preciation 
of  a  hard-workin'  citizen  like  me.  After  I  had 
got  some  money  outer  him,  five  or  six  times,  he 
seemed  to  drap  to  me,  an'  last  week  when  I  went 
to  his  office,  he  booted  me  out.  Jest  think  of  it, 
booted  me  clean  out  to  the  gutter,  and  me  a  gen- 
tleman, born  an'  bred!"  The  rum-soaked  loafer 
spoke  in  an  aggrieved  tone^  and  shook  his  arm 
wildly. 

"I  think  yer  durn  foolishness  has  sp'ilt  the 
whole  game  fer  me,  an'  I  ain't  got  a  red  out  o'  it 
yet,"  angrily  cried  Foley. 

"They  don't  know  nuthin'  'bout  you,  pard,  but 
they're  on  ter  me.  Whatever  yer  do,  I  gives  yer  a 
clean  start,  fer  ye're  dead  up  to  this  time,  as  fur  as 
they  knows.  My  influence  round  here  don't 
'mount  to  much,  jest  now.  .Why,  that  bloke 


WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS         259 

Franklin  sez  to  me,  when  I  wuz  sneakin'  in  his 
hallway  after  dark  an'  near  scared  the  women 
out'n  their  wits,  he  sez,  a-grabbin'  me  by  the  col- 
lar, an'  whackin'  me  as  if  I  wuz  the  bull  drum  in 
a  nigger  band — 'If  I  ever  sees  yer  aroun'  here 
ag'in,  I'll  have  yer  sent  up!' — an'  he  chases  me 
clean  round  the  corner,  a-kickin'  me,  an'  me  a  gen- 
tleman born  an'  bred." 

"You  a  gentleman  born  an'  bred!  If  yer  had  a 
know'd  yer  bizness  we  might  'a'  worked  this 
thing  right  along,  a-sayin'  I  wuz  dead  one  month 
an'  alive  the  next,  but  yer  never  will  be  nobody," 
— and  Foley  drank  long  at  the  bottle. 

"  'Tain't  too  late,  yer  old  gal  ain't  taken  on 
ag'in  yet." 

"When  does  she  git  married  ?"  asked  Foley. 

"Tom  tol*  me,  yer  son  Tom, — he's  a  fine  boy, 
so  much  like  his  dad !  Yer  orter  git  acquaint'd  to 
him,  Dennis,  he's  one  of  us,  jest  as  nacherel  as 
if  he  had  been  bro't  up  to  it,"  Hildey  mumbled 
garrulously. 

"Durn  the  boy!  When  does  the  old  gal  git 
hitched?" 

"That's  what  I  wuz  comin'  to;  Tom  sez  the 
weddin'  takes  place  on  Christmas  Eve." 

"Christmas    Eve?"    mused    Foley.     "It    wuz 


260  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Christmas  Eve  when  I  skedaddled;  lemme  see," 
— he  took  another  drink  from  the  bottle,  and 
looked  into  space.  "Yes,  jest  five  years  gone. 
I  remember  it  as  if  it  wuz  yesterday.  I  got 
a  lot  o'  money  from  Colonel  Glenn  to  shoul- 
der a  musket  fer  Jeff  Davis,  an'  I  had  a  row 
with  Molly  'cause  the  rent  wuz  due,  an'  the 
groc'ry  bill  wuz  due,  an'  her  shoes  were  all 
worn  out,  an'  she  sed  she  wuz  workin'  like  a 
nigger,  an'  tol'  me  that  I  wuz  a  whisky  sot. 
I  tol'  her  I  didn't  'low  no  woman  to  talk  to  me 
that  'ere  way,  an'  I  bangs  her  in  the  eye,  an'  starts 
up  stairs  to  git  my  duds.  When  I  comes  down,  I 
sees  her  a-trimmin'  a  Christmas  tree  fer  the  boy. 
I  sneaks  out,  'cause  if  I  hadn't  I'd  'a'  banged  her 
other  eye,  an'  as  I  passes  the  winder  she  was 
kneelin'  down  with  her  arms  aroun'  Tom's  neck, 
an'  a-sayin'  prayers.  I  almos'  busted,  a-tryin'  to 
keep  from  laffin',  fer  while  she  was  a-cryin'  an' 
a-prayin',  Tom  wuz  jest  a-yankin'  things  off'n 
that  tree,  an'  she  never  noticed  it.  It  wuz  funny, 
an'  I  laffed  over  it  many  times,  thinkin'  how  Tom 
fooled  her." 

"That's  Tom  all  over,"  said  Hildey.  "He's 
goin'  to  be  a  great  man,  an'  orter  git  purty  high 
in  the  world," — and  with  drunken  familiarity,  he 


WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS         261 

slapped  the  proud  father's  back  playfully  but  with 
a  heavy  hand. 

"Not  too  high,  pard;  not  too  high,"  said  the 
other,  now  drunk. 

"No,  not  too  high;  not  as  high  as  a  gallus." 

"What  d'yer  mean  by  gallus?"  said  Foley, 
grasping  the  neck  of  the  bottle  menacingly. 

"I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  of  somethin'  high,  and 
gallus  seemed  to  be  nacherel." 

"What  does  Tom  say  about  this  shameful  mar- 
riage?" queried  the  other. 

"He's  flabbergasted.  He  sez  'tain't  decent,  an* 
he's  willin'  to  swear  on  a  stack  o'  Bibles  a  mile 
high  that  his  mother  has  been  talked  into  it  by 
that  bloke  Franklin.  Drat  him  fer  meddlin'  in 
other  people's  affairs,  an'  durn  him  fer  kickin'  me, 
— yes,  kickin'  me  three  times, — d'yer  hear, — me, 
a  gentleman  born  and  bred." 

"Did  yer  tell  Tom  I  wuz  erlive?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  tell  him  that;  he  might  blab 
it,  an'  I'd  have  to  skip  mighty  fast.  But  he  sez 
to  me,  t'other  night — wouldn't  it  be  funny  if  my 
dad'd  just  turn  up  an'  spile  the  ol'  woman's  scan- 
dalous conduct." 

"But  I  can't  turn  up.  I'd  be  nabbed  fer  a  de- 
serter." 


262  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Bosh !  The  war's  over,  an'  they  ain't  botherin' 
much  jest  now  'bout  deserters,  yer  kin  bet.  If 
yer  show  yerself,  an'  worst  comes  to  worst,  yer 
could  cook  up  a  yarn  'bout  havin'  been  tak'n  pris'- 
ner  by  the  rebs  an'  dump'd  down  in  Cuby,  or  some 
other  place,  an'  this  is  the  fust  chance  yer  had  to 
git  back." 

"Did  you  think  o'  that?"  questioned  Foley. 

"Naw,  that's  Tom's  idee.  He  sez  a  hundred 
times,  'I  jest  wisht  the  ol'  man  wuzn't  ded.'  'But 
he  is,'  I  sez;  'ded  as  a  door  nail.'  He  sez  'I  wisht 
dad  wuz  erlive,  if  only  for  a  long  'nuff  time  to 
come  on  an'  break  up  mum's  weddin' ;'  but  I  tells 
him,  if  yer  wuz  alive,  yer  wouldn't  dast  show  yer- 
self as  yer  ran  away  from  the  Army.  An'  then  he 
sez,  'Why,  if  dad  hadn't  turn'd  up  his  toes,  and 
he  show'd  up  here  now,  he  could  cook  up  a  yarn 
that  half  of  the  galoots  roun'  here  would  think 
wuz  true,'  an'  Tom  sed  he  wouldn't  be  surprised 
if  the  gov'nment  would  give  yer  a  pension,  and 
Congress  vote  yer  some  thanks  fer  yer  devotion 
to  the  Union.  Tom  sez  it's  a  blamed  shame  yer 
kick'd  the  bucket,  when  yer  chances  look  sq 
good." 

"That  Tom  mus'  be  a  cute  boy,  an'  if  they  ever 
gits  the  nippers  on  me,  I'll  use  Tom's  idee,  an' 


WHITE  HORSES  AND  CHARIOTS         263 

make  'em  weep  when  I  tells  how  I  fit  an'  bled  for 
my  country," — and  he  drained  the  last  drop  from 
his  glass. 

"  Was  Tom  sorry  I  wuz  dead  ?" 

"He  wuz,  fer  truth,"  said  the  other,  going  over 
to  his  bed  and  extracting  from  between  the  mat- 
tresses another  long-necked  bottle.  Pulling  the 
cork  he  took  a  long  swig  and  handed  the  bottle 
to  Poley. 

"That's  mighty  good  whisky,  beau ;  wher'd  yer 
git  it  ?"  asked  Dennis,  smacking  his  lips. 

"Me  an'  Tom's  been  workin'  the  little  stores 
round  here,  an'  we  ain't  los'  no  time." 

"How  does  yer  do  it?" 

"Me  an'  Tom  goes  into  a  store  with  a  tin  can 
an'  asks  fer  a  pint  o'  'lasses,  an'  I  goes  down  with 
the  ol'  woman  into  the  cellar  to  help  draw  it,  an* 
yer  know  how  mighty  slow  'lasses  is.  Tom  picks 
up  anythin'  handy,  like  a  bottle  of  whisky,  or  ef 
the  money  drawer  ain't  locked,  a  dollar  or  two, 
but  we  makes  the  pickin's  so  light  that  we  works 
the  same  store  three  times  a  week." 

"That's  all  right,  pard;  so  jest  fork  over  my 
share  o'  the  swag." 

"Dennis,  old  pard,  as  I'm  a  gentleman  born 
an'  bred,  I  ain't  got  more'n  a  dollar  to  my  soul. 


264  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

I  wuz  so  stuck  on  them  white  horses  an'  chariots, 
that  I've  played  policy  ev'ry  day,  hopin'  to  git  me 
money  back.  But  if  yer  lets  up  on  me,  I'll  tote 
fair  from  this  time  out." 

"I'll  see  that  yer  do.  If  yer  do  me  dirt  ag'in, 
I'll  kill  yer.  Here  I  am,  an'  I  ain't  in  nuthin'  fer 
bein'  dead.  'Cordin'  to  my  countin',  I  ain't  dead, 
an'  I  ain't  dead  fer  nuthin',  an'  they'll  find  it  out, 
curse  'em !"  Foley  rolled  over  on  the  bed,  clutch- 
ing the  bottle  tightly,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

Hildey  took  a  long  drink,  and  mumblingly 
said:  "That  bloke  wouldn't  help  a  pore  man, 
curse  him!  an'  kicked  me  out  inter  the  gutter, — 
a  gentleman  born  and  bred,  an'  so  I  sez  curse 
him!"  The  sot  crept  over  against  his  partner, 
and  almost  immediately  began  to  snore. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NOCATCHTANK    CLUB 

The  season  for  shooting  ortolan  and  other 
marsh-birds  was  drawing  to  a  close  in  Pipetown. 
The  reed-bird  had  begun  his  journey  southward, 
and  the  monotonous  "click-click"  of  this  ornitho- 
logical glutton  was  scarcely  heard  in  the  fields. 

Ye,  who  live  only  to  eat,  ponder  while  ye  may ! 
Bow  ye  not  to  the  gastronomic  idol,  hanker  ye 
not  for  the  delights  of  the  festal  board!  Verily, 
I  say,  ponder  in  fear  and  trembling  as  ye  view 
the  speedy  degeneration  of  this  foolish  bird,  vic- 
tim of  his  own  voracious  appetite ! 

In  the  glad  springtime,  what  song  more  joy- 
ous, what  voice  more  musical  than  the  bobolink's  ? 

Love  is  in  his  heart;  love  tones  gush  from  his 
melodic  throat.  For  him  the  day  is  fair,  the  sun 
is  bright,  and  all  the  world  is  wooing. 

Darting  here  and  there  among  the  buds  that 
blossom  in  the  orchard,  he  plays  at  hide-and-seek 
with  his  mate,  happy  from  dawn  to  dusk.  He 

builds  his  nest  in  sweetest  meadow-land,  and  rears 
265 


266  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

his  young  in  great  joy  to  the  strains  of  ec- 
static trills. 

But  soon  there  comes  a  change. 

His  song  is  hushed,  his  once  happy  home  de- 
serted. 

Neighbors  begin  to  whisper. 

Mrs.  Blue  Jay,  in  confidence,  tells  Mrs.  Catbird, 
who  informs  Mrs.  Robin,  who  in  turn  asserts  to 
little  Miss  Wren,  that  something  is  wrong  with 
the  Bobolinks. 

They  have  reason  for  this  gossip.  The  once 
well-groomed  bird  allows  its  black  and  buff  plum- 
age to  grow  seedy,  and  when  finally  the  feathery 
Mrs.  Grundy  puts  him  outside  the  pale  of  polite 
society,  he  vanishes  in  a  night.  Southward  he 
flies,  with  the  one  desire  paramount, — to  eat. 

His  garb  has  become  an  ashen  yellow,  and  in 
his  downward  path  he  changes  his  name,  and  now 
is  known  as  the  Reed-bird.  His  beauty  and  sym- 
metry of  form  have  disappeared,  and  in  their 
place  is  a  decided  aldermanic  embonpoint. 

At  the  coming  of  autumn's  first  chill  winds,  he 
departs  hastily  for  the  fields  of  Carolina,  and, 
from  daylight  to  dark,  gorges  himself,  and,  wholly 
forgetful  of  ancestral  pride,  assumes  another 
name,  the  Rice  Bunting. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  267 

Under  this  alias  his  voracity  leads  him  still 
farther  southward,  until  he  reaches  the  Isles  of 
the  Summer  Sea,  a  lazy  lump  of  yellow  fat. 

Now  he  is  the  Butter  Bird,  sans  song,  sans 
sentiment,  sans  plumage,  sans  everything,  but 
mighty  fine  broiled  on  toast. 

During  the  season's  shooting  Gilbert  was  fre- 
quently Sandy's  companion,  and  had  acquired 
considerable  skill  and  accuracy  as  a  wing  shot. 
This  was  attested  by  the  liberal  number  of  sora  or 
ortolan,  reed,  sprig-tails  and  blue-wings  he  had 
brought  home.  It  was  an  unwritten  law  among 
Pipetown  hunters  never  to  shoot  at  a  sitting  bird, 
and  Gilbert  was  ever  scrupulously  faithful  to  this 
tradition. 

Sandy,  Leander,  Dink  and  Gilbert  were  to 
meet  by  appointment  at  the  Jedge's  to  discuss  a 
hunting  and  camping  trip.  Sandy  arrived  first, 
and  Gilbert's  shooting  became  the  source  of  con- 
versation. 

"He's  got  a  nacheral  eye,"  said  Sandy  to  the 
Jedge,  describing  some  particularly  fine  shot  Gil- 
bert had  made.  "When  he  hits,  he  does  it  jest  as 
clean  as  a  hound's  tooth.  'Tain't  many  cripplers 
with  him ;  jest  close  shootin',  an'  I  enjoys  a-show- 

in'  him  how." 

I 


268  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  he  ain't  one  er  them 
fellers  as  closes  his  eyes  and  let's  the  Lor'  direct 
the  shot,"  said  the  old  man  approvingly. 

"No  sirree,  Jedge,  if  the  birds  carried  bells, 
he'd  ring  'em  lots  o'  times,  he  shoots  so  close." 

Gilbert,  Leander  and  Dink  finally  came,  and  the 
pleasure  trip  was  discussed. 

"I  should  say,"  remarked  the  Jedge,  "  'bout 
the  best  time  to  camp  out  would  be  Thanksgivin' 
week.  The  river  orter  be  loaded  down  with  can- 
vas-backs, red-heads,  mallards,  an'  all  sorts  of 
trash  ducks.  Uplands  an'  yeller  shanks  are  apt 
to  be  plentiful,  an'  there  ain't  no  tellin'  but  what 
we  might  be  able  to  pick  up  a  good  many  snipe 
an'  woodcock.  An'  fer  a  change,  it  'pears  to  me, 
judgin'  by  the  dry  summer,  there  orter  be  lots 
an'  lots  o'  partridges  in  the  stubble,  an'  cotton- 
tails so  thick  that  they'll  trip  yer  up." 

"Well,  Jedge,  the  time  is  all  right,  but  we 
don't  want  no  big  gang  of  fellers  goin'  'long, 
d'ye  think?"  inquired  Sandy. 

"Ye're  right,  a  big  gang's  always  in  the  way. 
A  party  orter  be  congenial,  leastwise  to  them- 
selves, to  say  nuthin'  o'  common  politeness  to 
each  other,"  said  the  Jedge  in  his  most  conclusive 
manner. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  269 

"I've  made  a  list;  see  how  this  will  suit,"  spoke 
Gilbert. 

Captain  and  Executive  Officer,  ....  The  Jedge. 
Adjutant  and  Flag  Lieutenant,  ....  Sandy  Goggles. 
Sergeant  Major  and  Master  at  Arms,  .  Leander  Daindridge. 
First  Private  and  Able  Seaman,     .    .    .  Dink  Dabney. 
Second  Private  and  Ordinary  Seaman,    Gilbert  Franklin. 
Striker  and  Mess  Attendant, Matt  Johnson. 

"That  strikes  me  jest  about  right,  with  one 
'ception,"  said  the  Jedge.  "I  'low  it  orter  read 
this  'ere  way — Second  Private  and  Walkin'  Dic- 
tionary, Gilbert  Franklin.  Yer  see,  Gil,  we  might 
need  yer  book-1'arnin'  to  straighten  things  out, 
an'  'twouldn't  be  fair  to  the  rest  to  call  on  a  sec- 
ond private  'less  he  wuz  'titled  to  that  'ere  posi- 
tion." 

The  Jedge  resumed  his  seat  and  pipe,  amid  ap- 
plause. 

"I  votes  with  the  Jedge's  'mendment  that  it 
passes,"  said  Dink.  The  resolution  was  unan- 
imously carried. 

"Now,  Jedge,  what  must  we  take  along?" 
asked  Gilbert. 

"As  a  starter,  one  Sibley  tent  and  one  bell  tent." 

"I'll  get  those,"  said  Leander.  "I  am  sure  my 
uncle,  the  Commodore,  will  lend  them  to  me  from 
the  Government  stores  at  the  Yard." 


270  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Two  lanterns,"  continued  the  Jedge. 

"I'll  get  those,  too,"  added  Leander. 

"Groceries  an'  sich,  to  last  a  week,"  went  on 
the  old  man. 

"My  father  promised  to  buy  all  the  provisions 
we'll  need,  so  I'll  take  care  of  that  item,"  said 
Gilbert. 

"Fishin'  tackle,  decoys,  an'  skiffs  will  be  sup- 
plied by  Yours  Truly," — this  from  the  Jedge. 

"Me  an'  Dink'll  git  the  tin  plates  fer  to  eat 
out'er,  an'  a  ax  an'  hatchets,  so  don't  worry  'bout 
them,"  assured  Sandy. 

"Everybody  brings  his  own  gun,  ammernition, 
knife,  knapsack,  blankets  and  rubber  boots,  an' 
I'll  bring  fryin'  pan,  chowder-pot,  coffee-pot,  an' 
skillets,  so  that  orter  be  'nuff,"  said  the  old  hunter. 

"If  there's  anything  we've  forgotten,  and  any 
one  happens  to  think  of  it,  he'd  better  jot  it  down 
and  bring  it  up  at  the  next  meeting,"  added  Gil- 
bert. 

"Now,  remember  boys,"  spoke  the  Jedge,  "we 
start  at  four  o'clock  A.  M.  afore  light,  from  Jebb's 
Corner,  Monday  mornin'  of  Thanksgivin'  week, 
rain  or  shine,  in  this  year  of  our  Lord." 

"Hold  on,  just  a  minute!"  said  Gilbert,  stand- 
ing in  the  center  of  a  little  group.  "My  father 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  271 

says,  before  the  white  man  discovered  this  coun- 
try there  was  a  powerful  tribe  of  Indians  that 
lived  on  the  banks  of  our  river.  From  Pencote 
up  and  beyond  Oyster  Shell  Landing,  the  shores 
of  the  stream  were  dotted  with  the  wigwams  of 
the  red  men.  They  hunted  and  fished  and — did 
everything — before  our  ancestors  drove  them 
away.  Let's  call  ourselves  after  them:  the  'No- 
catchtank  Hunting  and  Fishing  Club'." 

"I  seconds  that  with  'mendments,  which  is 
this,"  said  the  Jedge ;  "the  title  to  be  the  Nocatch- 
tank  Huntin'  an'  Fishin'  Club,  Gilbert  Franklin, 
Little  Admiral,  an'  the  other  officers  to  remain 
as  they  wuz.  It  is  already  carried  'nanermous  an' 
the  meetin'  is  adjourned." 

The  days  following  were  busy  ones  for  the 
boys.  Everything  needed  for  the  trip  was  car- 
ried to  the  boat-house  and  stored. 

On  the  specified  day  the  little  party  started,  ac- 
companied by  the  Jedge's  two  setters,  Sandy's 
water  spaniel,  and  Matt's  'possum  dog,  Blinkey. 
The  Jedge,  Leander,  Dink,  Matt  and  the  dogs 
went  in  the  Lillian.  Sandy  and  Gilbert  paddled 
up  in  the  skiff  Dolly.  They  reached  their  destina- 
tion, Licking  Banks,  by  eight,  and  the  boys  imme- 
diately began  preparations  for  camping.  Poles 


272  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

were  cut  on  which  to  hang  the  coffee-pot,  and 
soon  a  fire  was  burning  brightly. 

"Boys,  I  hereby  elects  myself  cook  o'  the  occa- 
sion, an'  will  prepare  yer  one  o'  my  five-minute 
breakfasts,  celebrated  from  here  to  Jericho. 
Ev'rybody  stir  yer  stumps!  Gimme  the  eggs, 
Matt;  grease  the  pan,  Dink;  slice  the  bolony, 
Sandy ;  chop  off  a  bit  of  bacon,  Leander ;  pour  in 
the  milk,  Gil,  while  I  hold  the  pan  over  the  coals." 
The  Jedge  lapsed  into  silence  and  watched  the 
contents  of  the  pan  begin  to  cook. 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  interested  lookers- 
on  and  the  air  was  soon  filled  with  appetizing 
odors. 

"Whoa,"  said  the  Jedge,  taking  a  fork,  and 
tasting  the  dish  as  it  sizzled.  "It's  all  right, 
boys,  O  K,  copper-bottomed,  an'  a  dish  fit  fer 
Apolly  Belvidery,  or  enny  other  gentleman.  Take 
that  coffee  off,  Sandy,  she's  b'ilin'  over.  The  rest 
of  yer  boys  git  plates  an'  things,  an'  bread  an'  but- 
ter. In  one  minit  we  eats." 

And  eat  they  did. 

After  the  meal  the  tents  were  carried  ashore 
and  erected  beneath  the  bluffs.  In  a  couple  of 
hours  everything  was  ship-shape,  and  the  Jedge 
made  his  assignments  for  the  day. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  273 

Sandy  and  Gilbert  went  to  hunt  for  grass-ducks 
at  Piney  Run  in  the  Dolly.  With  them  was 
Prince,  the  water  spaniel.  After  they  had  pad- 
dled up  stream  for  some  distance,  Gilbert  whis- 
pered suddenly,  "Mark  left." 

Far  ahead  and  to  the  north  were  flying  a 
flock  of  mallards.  The  boys  turned  their  skiff 
into  a  tiny  creek,  and  watched  with  breathless  in- 
terest. The  big,  strong-flying  ducks  began  to  cir- 
cle. At  each  turn  they  came  nearer  the  ground, 
and,  after  a  cautious  outlook,  rose  and  darted 
downward  again  and  again,  finally  settling  in  a 
pool  in  a  large  zizania  marsh,  a  long  distance 
ahead. 

"I  know  jest  where  they  went  down,"  said 
Sandy,  "an'  if  we  work  right  we'll  git  a  crack 
at  'em." 

Silently  the  skiff  was  pushed  into  deep  water. 

"I'll  bet  they're  up  in  Piney  Run,"  whispered 
Sandy.  "Jest  as  soon  as  we  git  inside  the  mouth 
of  the  creek,  put  away  yer  paddle  as  soft  as  pos- 
sible an'  git  out  yer  creepers.  Don't  make  no 
noise,  fer  a  mallard's  got  the  best  hearin'  an'  the 
sharpest  eyes  of  ennything  that  flies." 

In  due  time  the  boys  reached  the  Run.  They 
were  crouching  low  and  Gilbert  was  using  the 


274  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

creepers,  much  as  a  fish  does  his  fins.  Gun  in 
hand,  the  older  boy  sat  watching  for  the  ducks  at 
every  turn  in  the  creek.  Not  a  sound  was  ut- 
tered. Occasionally  a  terrapin,  sunning  himself 
on  the  bank,  would  topple  over  into  the  water 
with  a  faint  splash. 

The  boys  had  glided  at  least  a  mile  through  the 
circuitous  creek,  when  Sandy  put  a  warning  fin- 
ger to  his  lip.  They  turned  the  corner,  when 
"Quack!  quack!"  up  rose  the  bunch  of  mal- 
lards, not  forty  yards  away.  The  surprised  flock 
jumped  against  the  wind,  and  as  they  wheeled, 
Sandy  let  them  have  both  barrels,  and  down 
tumbled  nine  ducks. 

The  strain  was  over,  and  the  boys  gave  way  to 
loud  shouts  of  joy.  It  was  Gilbert's  first  expe- 
rience at  grass-duck  shooting,  and  he  was  wild 
with  excitement. 

"I  got  nine  with  two  barrels,"  exulted  Sandy, 
"and  there's  two  cripplers  gone  down  ahead. 
We'll  have  to  push  fer  'em." 

"  'Twould  be  too  bad  to  lose  them,"  spoke  the 
other. 

"Prince'll  git  'em  if  he  hasn't  lost  his  nose," 
said  Sandy  with  confidence,  lovingly  patting  the 
dog  on  the  head. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  275 

Prince  looked  up  and  wagged  his  tail  as  if  to 
say,  "Depend  on  me,  I'll  find  them." 

After  the  dead  ducks  were  gathered  into  the 
skiff,  Sandy  took  the  shoving  pole  and  Gilbert  sat 
in  the  gunner's  seat.  The  older  boy  punted  the 
Dolly  through  the  marsh,  in  the  direction  where 
the  wounded  ducks  had  gone  down.  The  spaniel 
kept  his  nose  well  over  the  bow,  alert  and  ready. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  rustling  in  the  weeds,  and 
up  came  a  crippler,  flying  strong. 

"Shoot  him!"  shouted  Sandy. 

Gilbert  banged  with  his  first  barrel  and  missed, 
but  almost  instantly  he  fired  again,  this  time 
bringing  down  his  quarry.  Then  out  jumped 
Prince,  and  retrieved  the  fallen  duck. 

The  second  crippler  was  not  so  easily  found. 
He  had  evidently  hidden  in  one  of  the  numerous 
muskrat  houses  which  dotted  the  marsh.  The 
boys  had  about  given  him  up,  when  the  dog  un- 
expectedly darted  from  the  boat,  and  up  scamp- 
ered a  beautiful  black  mallard,  with  wing  broken, 
but  still  exceedingly  active. 

Prince  was  in  hot  pursuit.  Through  reeds, 
over  clear  places,  and  everywhere  the  mallard  ran, 
swam  and  hopped.  He  could  not  fly  and  he  could 
not  remain  long  under  water.  For  fifteen  min- 


276  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

utes  the  boys  watched  this  exciting  exhibition  of 
hide-and-seek,  until  finally  the  dog  cornered  the 
duck  in  a  bunch  of  matted  grass,  seized  it,  and 
carried  it  carefully  to  the  skiff. 

As  the  lads  paddled  slowly  down  the  main 
channel,  Gilbert  noticed  a  number  of  little  ob- 
jects bobbing  on  the  water  and  asked  excitedly, 
"Do  you  see  anything?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  the  older.  "Jest  turn  in 
this  'ere  creek  for  a  minit,  Gil.  We'll  have  to 
make  a  blind  if  it's  ducks." 

They  ran  the  boat  ashore,  got  out  and  cut  a 
number  of  cedar  boughs,  which  they  piled  up  in 
the  bow  of  their  tiny  craft. 

"Yer  see,  it's  this  'ere  way,"  said  Sandy. 
"When  there  ain't  any  ice  on  the  river,  yer  can 
creep  on  a  white-back  or  a  red-head,  if  yer  jest 
hide  yerself  'hind  somethin'  green:  an'  when 
there  is  ice  on  the  river,  if  yer  hide  yerself  'hind 
somethin'  white,  the  chances  is  yer  can  git  within 
shootin'  distance  er  the  game."  Sandy  brought 
out  the  creepers,  and  lying  flat  again,  the  boys 
moved  the  skiff  slowly  toward  the  black  objects. 

"Ducks,  an'  no  mistake !"  whispered  Sandy,  as 
they  came  near  enough  to  see  them  swimming 
and  diving  in  the  open  water. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  277 

"Take  yer  first  shot  when  they  jump,  an'  give 
'em  bally-hooly  when  they  double,"  cautioned 
Sandy  quietly. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  Dolly  drifted,  while  the 
waterfowl,  warned  by  their  instinctive  sense  of 
danger,  swam  toward  a  common  center,  and 
crowded  together  so  closely  that  a  large  blanket 
might  have  covered  them  completely  from  sight. 
Apparently  by  concerted  action,  they  rose  in  a 
body. 

"Paste  'em,  Gil!"  shouted  Sandy  in  great  ex- 
citement. 

From  some  unexpected  cause,  which  he  never 
could  explain,  Gilbert  pulled  the  trigger  before 
he  got  the  gun  to  his  shoulder,  and  the  recoil 
struck  him  full  and  square  in  the  nose.  Then,  to 
make  his  misfortune  worse,  he  lost  his  balance, 
and  overboard  went  dead  ducks,  dog,  and  both 
boys. 

Gilbert  swam  to  the  overturned  boat  and  held 
on  for  dear  life.  Sandy  came  up  out  of  the  water 
some  ten  feet  behind,  and  quickly  joined  his  com- 
panion. Together  they  shoved  the  tiny  craft  into 
a  shallow  place  and  righted  it.  The  gun  Sandy 
secured  by  diving,  while  the  scattered  ducks  were 
retrieved  by  the  spaniel. 


278  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"What  became  of  the  ducks  I  started  to  shoot  ?" 
asked  Gilbert,  pulling  off  his  boots  and  emptying 
them  of  water. 

"I  guess  they  wuz  too  busy  to  stay,"  laughed 
Sandy.  "When  they  seen  us  go  kerflop  they  felt 
so  sorry  that  they  put  on  extry  steam  an'  went 
home  to  tell  their  mothers  all  'bout  it." 

"Golly,  but  I'm  wet!"  said  the  little  fellow, 
with  teeth  chattering. 

"Don't  mind  that,  jest  take  a  double  paddle  an' 
work  it  fer  all  ye're  worth,  an'  yer'll  be  as  warm 
as  a  bug  in  a  rug." 

Reentering  the  skiff  they  shoved  off  and  soon 
reached  the  camp.  It  did  not  take  them  long  to 
put  on  dry  clothes,  and,  none  the  worse  for  the 
adventure,  barring  Gilbert's  battered  nose,  they 
were  soon  relating  their  experience.  The  Jedge 
congratulated  them  on  their  fortunate  escape,  and 
then  said : 

"Don't  ever  ag*in  put  yer  finger  on  the  trigger, 
Gil,  until  ye're  ready  to  shoot  off  your  gun,  an' 
know  what  ye're  shootin'  at.  Lots  o'  people  on 
this  earth  git  inter  trouble  by  shootin'  off  their 
mouth  before  they  knows  what  they're  aimin'  at. 
Ye're  mighty  lucky  to  git  off  so  easy." 

During  the  giving  of  this  advice,  Leander  and 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  279 

Dink  returned  from  Succabel's  Cove  where  they 
had  been  hunting  woodcock.  A  bare  half-dozen 
constituted  their  bag. 

"Hunting  woodcock  isn't  the  thing  it's  cracked 
up  to  be,  Jedge,"  lamented  Leander. 

"No,  that's  true ;  there's  a  powerful  lot  o'  room 
outside  o'  woodcock,"  chuckled  the  old  man. 

"'Tain't  tellin'  anythin'  out'n  the  way," 
chimed  in  Dink,  "when  I  sez  we  misses  four 
woodcock  fer  every  one  we  git,  when  we  do  git 
'em.  They  look  dead  easy,  but  they  keep  yer 
wonderin'  how  they  kin  go  right  on  after  yer 
shoot  at  'em.  But  they  do,  an'  no  joke." 

"The  woodcock  is  a  noble  bird,"  said  the  Jedge, 
"but  he  is  shot  at  so  much,  he  jest  gits  used  to  it. 
It's  a  wonder  to  me  he  hasn't  lost  confidence  in 
the  world  an'  passed  in  his  checks,  a-goin'  where 
the  wicked  cease  from  trouble  an'  the  weary  are 
at  rest." 

"They  git  mighty  brash  sometimes,  though," 
said  Dink.  "Honest-to-goodness,  if  one  didn't 
turn  round  this  mornin'  an'  make  a  bee-line  fer 
Leander.  I  thought  he  wuz  goin'  to  take  Lean- 
der's  gun  away  from  him,  an'  it  scared  me  so  I 
hollered  fer  my  mother." 

"Yer  must  have  been  born  under  a  lucky  star, 


280  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Leander,"  laughed  the  Jedge.  "  'Twas  only  yer 
luck  saved  yer  gun.  Ye' re  certainly  lucky.  I 
spec'  if  yer  tumbled  overboard  yer'd  come  up 
dusty." 

Supper  was  nearly  ready, — the  potatoes  were 
roasting  in  the  ashes,  the  fish  were  frying,  and 
the  ducks  were  broiling  on  the  spit. 

Matt,  the  darky,  had  built  a  table  during  the 
day,  and  the  Jedge,  with  the  boys,  gathered  round 
it  for  their  evening  meal.  Matt  sat  by  the  fire,  a 
huge  piece  of  bacon,  some  sweet  potatoes  and  a 
can  of  steaming  coffee  before  him.  Blinkey,  his 
dog,  was  dozing  near  by. 

"I  spec's,  Matt,"  said  the  Jedge,  "that  yer  like 
hog-meat  better'n  mos'  anything  else,  don't  yer  ?" 

"I  'knowledges  the  co'n,  Jedge;  I'se  powerful 
fond  o'  hog-meat.  But  if  yer  wants  this  culled 
pusson  to  be  right  in  heaven,  jest  gimme  roas' 
'possum." 

Blinkey  opened  his  eyes,  raised  his  Head,  and 
listened  attentively. 

"  'Possum  ?"  queried  Leander. 

"  'Possum's  what  I  sez,"  repeated  the  darky, 
and  his  dog  looked  around  sharply. 

"  'Possum,  stuffed  with  sweet  potatoes,  is  jest 
about  right,"  said  the  Jedge. 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  281 

"  'Possum,  sah !  'tain't  nuthin'  like  'possum ; 
'tain't  nuthin'  like  'possum!  It's  de  bestest  an' 
mos'  appetizin'ist  thing  in  de  wo'ld,  an'  dat's 
'possum,  sah,  'possum,  an'  jest  'possum." 

The  reiteration  of  'possum  had  some  effect  on 
the  dog.  He  became  restless  and  suddenly  dis- 
appeared. Before  Matt  had  finished  expatiating 
on  the  beauties  of  'possum,  the  dog  was  heard 
vigorously  barking  in  the  woods.  Everybody 
was  alert. 

"That  sounds  mighty  like  'possum/'  said  the 
Jedge,  listening  intently. 

"Dat  sounds  jest  like  'possum,"  said  Matt,  and 
taking  a  lantern  he  led  the  way  into  the  timber, 
directed  by  the  sounds  coming  from  Blinkey. 

"Dar's  a  'possum,  sho'," — and  up  the  tree  the 
darky  shinned. 

"Dar  he  is,  out'n  dat  limb,  a-makin'  out  he's 
sleepy.  Gimme  yo'h  hatchet."  Sandy  imme- 
diately climbed  up  to  Matt  and  handed  it  to  him. 
In  an  instant  the  darky  had  cut  the  limb.  Down 
came  Mr.  'Possum,  and  fell  among  the  group, 
lying  motionless  and  grinning  like  a  simpleton. 
Quick  as  a  flash,  Blinkey  had  mastered  him,  and 
in  triumph  the  animal  was  brought  to  the  camp. 

"I  sho'ly  hoped  we'd  git  a  'possum  sometime, 


282  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

but,  hones'  nigger,  I  didn't  spec'  to  hev  one  so 
soon," — and  Matt  patted  his  dog's  head  approv- 
ingly. 

"That  'ere  exhibition  of  Blinkey's  is  what 
scientific  men  calls  'canine  intelligence,' ' '  ex- 
pounded the  Jedge.  "He  listened  to  us  talkin' 
'bout  'possum,  an'  he  made  up  his  mind  we  wanted 
one." 

"Fse  been  a-hankerin'  ar'ter  'possum  sence 
away  befoh'  las'  grass,"  said  the  darky. 

"Speakin'  o'  canine  intelligence,  I  used  ter 
have  a  dog  what  had  more  of  it  than  yer  could 
shake  a  stick  at." 

"When  was  that,  Jedge?"  asked  Leander.  The 
Jedge  needed  only  an  interlocutor. 

"It  wuz  before  the  war,"  the  Jedge  commenced, 
and  every  one  around  the  fire  listened  intently. 

THE  JEDGE'S  STORY, 

I  wuz  settin'  home  one  mornin',  jest  pinin' 
'cause  my  rheumatiz  wuz  troublin'  me,  a  ruminat- 
in'  on  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  as  scientific  men 
would  say,  when  along  comes  one  of  them  fur- 
riners  with  a  shingle  up  his  back,  they  call  valets. 

He  ups  and  sez,  "I  understand  ye' re  the  party 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  283 

this  note  is  intended  fer,"  an'  hands  me  a  letter, 
addressed  an'  superscribed  to  me. 

It  was  from  a  gentleman  in  Philadelphy  I 
know'd.  It  sez  he  would  be  much  'bliged  if  I'd 
give  his  fren',  C.  Johnson-Johnson,  Esquire,  a 
good  hunt,  an'  furnish  him  with  a  dog  an'  a  guide, 
if  I  wuz  person'lly  unable  to  go. 

I  told  the  party  to  say  to  Mr.  C.  Johnson- John- 
son, Esquire,  that  the  dog  an'  guide  would  be 
ready  fer  him  any  time  he  would  call.  He  said 
his  guv'ner  would  be  down  the  nex'  mornin'. 

Well,  sir,  nex'  mornin'  'bout  nine,  in  walks  C. 
Johnson- Johnson,  Esquire.  He  wuz  one  of  them 
sweet-scented  roosters  whose  nose  seemed  huntin* 
fer  a  smell  all  the  time.  He  wore  green  goggles 
an'  put  on  'nuff  luggs  fer  a  peacock  with  two  tails. 
He  wuz  arrayed  as  never  wuz  Daniel  Boone  in 
the  dark  an'  bloody  groun's:  moccasins,  buck- 
skin pants  with  tossels  up  the  side,  fur  coat,  an' 
squirrel  cap.  He  weighed  'bout  as  much  as  a  bar 
o'  soap  after  a  hard  day's  wash,  an'  he  wuz  ner- 
vous as  the  St.  Vitus  dance. 

I  sed,  "C.  Johnson- Johnson,  Esquire,  ye' re  cer- 
tainly rigged  up  fer  keeps.  We  don't  hunt  pa'- 
tridges  and  cotton-tails  in  that  'ere  kind  o'  garb 
down  Here." 


284  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"But  I  desires  to,"  says  the  sassiety  tad,  mighty 
pompous. 

"Enny  way  yer  likes,  as  the  turkey  sed  when 
he  was  asked  how  he  wanted  to  be  cooked,"  I 
whacked  back. 

"I  propose  to  go  as  I  wish,"  he  barked  like  he 
had  a  double  chin. 

Sez  I,  "Are  yer  a  good  shot?" 

He  looks  at  me  cantankerous  like  an'  drawls, 
"I  never  miss." 

I  ups  an'  sez,  "That's  all  right,  Mr.  Philadel- 
phy.  If  yer  never  miss,  I've  got  the  dog  an'  nig- 
ger to  go  with  yer,  an'  they'll  show  yer  more  birds 
in  a  day  than  yer  ever  seen  afore  in  yer  life.  But 
remember,  it's  no  use  o'  takin'  that  'ere  dog  along 
if  yer  misses.  He  don't  like  it  an'  he's  powerful 
partic'lar  who  he  hunts  with." 

"I  told  you  that  I  never  miss,"  sez  the  sassiety 
tad,  almost  a-hollerin'  at  me. 

I  whistles  fer  my  dog,  an'  Bob  comes  out, 
lookin'  at  the  stranger,  curious  like. 

"What  breed  was  the  dog,  Jedge?"  queried 
Leander. 

He  hadn't  no  special  breed,  jest  plain  dog.  I 
guess  his  pedigree  wuz  all  breeds  'cept  pug.  I 
never  had  no  use  fer  a  pug.  Pugs  always  riled 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  285 

me.  My  dog  never  riled  me,  so  I  kalkerlate  he 
never  had  no  pug  in  him. 

Well,  as  I  wuz  sayin',  I  sez,  "Here's  the  dog. 
His  name's  Bob,  an'  he'll  stay  with  yer  as  long  as 
yer  hit.  But  if  yer  miss  three  times  runnin',  I 
won't  guarantee  him." 

"I  told  you  I  never  miss,"  bellered  the  sassiety 
tad,  a-stampin'  with  his  foot.  Then  he  asked, 
bossy-like,  "Are  you  goin'  as  my  guide?" 

"I  would  like  to,  jest  to  see  yer  pop  'em  over, 
only  my  rheumatiz  is  so  bad  I  can't  walk,"  I  sez, 
"but  I've  got  a  kidney-foot  nigger,  named  Eben- 
ezer,  who  knows  ev'ry  inch  of  groun'  in  these  'ere 
parts," — and  I  whistles  fer  Ebenezer,  who  wuz 
snoozin'  'cross  the  street. 

When  he  comes  over  I  tells  him  I  wants  him  to 
go  with  the  gentleman  an'  give  him  a  good  hunt ; 
an'  so  Ebenezer  sed  good-by  to  his  folks  an'  got 
ready  to  start.  I  called  the  dog  an'  the  nigger 
over  to  me  an'  I  sez,  "I've  lent  yer  to  this  'ere 
gentleman,  C.  Johnson- Johnson,  Esquire,  for  to 
go  huntin'.  He  sez  he  never  misses,  so  yer  orter 
have  er  continual  round  o'  pleasure." 

Bob  looked  at  the  stranger,  an'  I  hope  I  may  die 
if  the  dog  didn't  shake  his  head,  sorrowful  like. 
Ebenezer  didn't  say  nuthin',  but  he  pop-eyed  so  at 


286  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

the  tad  I  kicked  him  twict  on  the  shins  afore  he'd 
let  go  a-lookin'. 

"Be  mighty  keerful  of  both  of  'em,  'specially  the 
dog,"  I  sez,  as  the  sassiety  tad  picked  up  his  gun. 

"Come,  Bob,"  sez  he,  shoulderin'  his  firearm, 
which  was  a  britch-loader,  an'  the  fust  that  me  an' 
Bob  an'  the  nigger 'd  ever  seen. 

Bob  looked  at  the  tad  an'  grabbed  him  by  the 
coat-tail  an'  was  pullin'  him  back.  The  man  got 
awful  scared  an'  hid  behind  me. 

"Jest  wait  till  I  finds  out  what  the  trouble  is,"  I 
sez.  Bob  kep'  jumpin'  up  as  though  he  wanted  to 
reach  the  gun. 

"Come  on !"  sez  Mr.  Philadelphy,  startin'  once 
more.  The  dog  grabs  his  coat-tails  ag'in  an' 
hangs  on.  "Somethin's  wrong,"  I  sez.  I  calls 
the  dog  off,  an'  patted  him  on  the  head.  He  took 
hold  o'  my  sleeve  an'  led  me  over  to  the  corner 
of  the  room  where  my  ol'  muzzle  loader  was 
restin',  an'  rubbed  his  nose  ag'in  the  ramrod  four 
or  five  times. 

It  jest  come  to  me  in  a  minit  what  the  trouble 
wuz.  Bob  noticed  the  stranger's  gun  hadn't  no 
ramrod,  bein'  a  britch-loader,  an'  he  didn't  un- 
derstan'  it.  I  sez  to  the  stranger,  "You  can't 
blame  him;  he  ain't  never  seen  a  britch-loader 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  287 

afore  an'  he  knows  a  ramrod  is  indispensable  to 
a  gun  gener'lly."  I  jest  took  the  stranger's  gun 
an'  showed  Bob  how  it  worked,  an'  he  walked  off 
with  the  tad,  waggin'  his  tail  satisfied  like,  an' 
they  wuz  soon  out  o'  sight,  goin'  toward  the 
country. 

Well,  sir,  about  two  o'clock,  I  wuz  sittin'  on  the 
back  porch  takin'  a  little  siesta,  as  scientific  men 
calls  snoozin'  after  dinner,  when  who  should  I  see 
a-humpin'  up  the  street  but  Bob. 

When  he  gits  to  me,  he  squats  down  an'  looks 
in  my  face,  expectin'  me  to  ask  him  somethin'. 
"What's  the  trouble,  Bob?"  I  sez. 

With  that  he  straightens  out  like  as  if  he  wuz 
p'intin'  birds,  then  barks  twice  an'  runs  like  mad 
up  the  street,  comes  back  an'  squats  in  front  of  me 
ag'in,  an'  then  he  does  the  same  thing  two  times 
runnin'. 

I  gits  it  through  my  coco'nut  what  he  meant, 
an'  patted  him  on  the  head,  an'  he  went  out  to  his 
kennel  to  have  a  sleep. 

A  little  while  after,  along  comes  Ebenezer, 
a-limpin'  like  he  wuz  lame  all  over.  When  he  gits 
to  the  gate,  he  sez,  "Marse  Jedge,  please  'scuse 
me,  I'se  powerful  uncomf'table.  Dat  fool  man 
sed  he  could  shoot  round  a  corner,  but  it  didn't 


288  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

work,  an'  now  I'se  gwine  down  to  de  doctor  to 
git  him  to  dig  de  shot  out'n  my  carcass.  I'se 
'fraid  I'se  done  fer,  fer  settin'  down," — an*  Eb- 
enezer  hobbled  away. 

Well,  sir,  in  about  two  hours  along  comes  C. 
Johnson- Johnson,  Esquire.  "What  luck?"  sez  I. 
"Only  fair,"  sez  he,  showin'  two  catbirds,  a  crow 
an'  a  sparrow.  "Where's  the  nigger?"  sez  I. 
"Oh,  asleep  somewhere  in  the  woods,"  sez  he. 
"He  jest  strolled  off,  an'  I  ain't  seen  him,"  sez  the 
sassiety  tad.  "I  hopes  he  didn't  take  nuthin'  of 
yourn  away  with  him,"  I  sez,  jest  a  little  bit  riled. 
"No,  he  didn't,"  he  answered.  "Yes,  he  did,"  I 
sez,  "he  carried  off  a  load  o'  yer  shot,  an'  jest  as 
soon  as  the  doctor  gits  through  pickin'  'em  out'er 
him,  he'll  give  'em  back  to  yer." 

"Why,  the  last  I  saw  of  him  he  wuz  goin'  over 
a  fence,"  sez  Mr.  Tad.  "Yes,  an'  you  helped  him 
over  with  four  drams  o'  powder  an'  two  ounces  of 
number  ten,"  I  shouts.  "You  surprise  me !"  said 
the  sweet-scented  rooster.  "Where's  the  dog?" 
I  asks,  innercent  like.  "Oh,  he  ain't  no  good," 
sez  the  tad,  "I  couldn't  do  nuthin'  with  him ;  he's 
gun-shy,  an'  flushed  the  birds  an'  ain't  got  no 
nose,  nohow." 

Honest-to-goodness,  but  out  comes  Bob,  an' 


THE  NOCATCHTANK  CLUB  289 

a-lookin'  at  the  stranger,  he  barks,  "Liar!  liar! 
liar!"  jest  as  plain  as  speakin',  an'  then  starts  up 
the  street  a-hoofin'  it  fer  the  B.  and  O.  depot. 

"That  dog  acts  like  he  wuz  mad,"  sez  Mr.  Tad. 

"He's  got  reason  to  be,"  I  whacked  back.  "You 
shoot?"  I  shouted,  my  dander  up.  "I  bet  yer 
couldn't  hit  er  flock  o'  barn-doors  in  a  month." 

"Sir!"  he  sez,  "yer  shock  me." 

"Shock  yer  ?  If  it  wasn't  fer  my  rheumatiz  I'd 
shock  yer  till  yer  tho't  I  wuz  a  galvanic  battery. 
I'd  break  yer  neck,"  I  sez,  itchin'  to  git  my  hands 
on  him,  fer  bullyraggin'  my  dog,  when  presto!  I 
sees  Bob  a-comin'  helter-skelter,  with  somethin' 
in  his  mouth.  When  he  gits  to  us,  he  drops  it  in 
front  of  the  sassiety  tad.  It  wuz  a  railroad  time- 
table, an'  C.  Johnson- Johnson,  Esquire,  takes  the 
next  train  for  Philadelphy. 

"Boys,  it's  time  to  turn  in.  It'll  be  nine  o'clock 
sooner  than  yer  think,  an'  yer  all  orter  be  a- 
snoozin'  afore  that  time,"  said  the  Jedge.  "I'll 
take  a  fresh  chaw  of  kinnikinick  an'  a  few  puffs 
on  my  ol*  dudeen  an'  I'll  be  there  before  yer 
know  it." 

It  took  but  a  moment  for  the  youngsters  to  get 
into  the  tent,  and,  rolling  themselves  snugly  in 


290  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

their  blankets,  before  long  they  were  fast  asleep. 
Matt  found  a  cozy  place  in  the  smaller  tent,  and 
shortly  after  the  Jedge,  too,  sought  rest  for  the 
night. 

At  five  next  morning  the  camp  was  astir  again. 
In  an  hour  breakfast  was  over,  and  the  assign- 
ments for  the  day  were  made.  And  thus  it  con- 
tinued all  the  week.  On  Saturday  afternoon 
stakes  were  drawn,  camp  was  broken,  and  with  a 
generous  bag  of  quail,  rabbits,  squirrels,  ducks, 
snipe,  and  a  fine  haul  of  fish,  the  party  slowly 
glided  down  the  river.  By  dark  they  had  reached 
the  Lillian's  anchorage. 

Men  and  boys  were  happy  and  contented,  bet- 
ter for  their  outing,  and  proud  of  the  success  of 
the  first  expedition  of  the  Nocatchtank  Hunting 
and  Fishing  Club. 


CHAFER  XVII 

"TWO   GENTLEMEN,   BORN   AN'    BRED*' 

It  was  midday  when  Dennis  Foley  awoke  from 
his  drunken  stupor;  he  was  in  an  ugly  frame  of 
mind,  and  ready  to  quarrel  at  the  slightest  provo- 
cation. 

"Bein'  a  deader  without  gittin'  nuthin'  fer  it 
ain't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be,  Cul,"  he  said. 
"If  my  bein'  a  stiff  wuz  worth  them  shellin'  out 
two  hundred,  seems  to  me  we  orter  git  more  if 
they  know'd  I  wuz  alive  an'  kickinV 

"I  don't  think  that  'ud  help  yer  much,"  said 
Hildey. 

"Why  not?"  asked  the  other. 

"  'Cause  if  yer  show  yer  mug,  the  jig  'ud 
be  up." 

"How  d'yer  figure  that?"  queried  Foley  sav- 
agely. 

"I've  been  thinkin'  it  over,  an'  I  don'  believe  it'd 
work  for  yer  to  show  yerself,  even  if  Tom  thinks 
it  would  be  all  right.  That  man  Franklin  is  a 
holy  terror,  an'  it  wouldn't  take  him  long  to  git 
291 


292  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

on  ter  yer  game,  an'  what  he  wouldn't  do  to  us 
for  foolin'  him,  I  ain't  a-sayin'." 

"But  if  I  turned  up  'live,  that  'ere  man  Jebb 
orter  shell  out  big  to  git  rid  o'  me  an'  let  him 
marry  the  ol'  gal." 

"I  s'pose  he  would/'  agreed  Hildey,  "if  yer  wife 
wuzn't  so  cantankerous,  but  she  tol'  me  she 
wouldn't  marry  the  best  man  that  ever  lived,  if 
she  knew  yer  wuz  alive/' 

"Mebbe  she's  still  gone  on  me,  pard,  an'  jest 
expectin'  I'll  come  an'  say :  'Come  to  me  arms,  me 
little  ducky  darlin'/  " — and  Foley  laughed  hilari- 
ously at  the  very  thought 

"Don't  fool  yerself  'bout  that,  Dennis.  I  axed 
her  if  yer  wuzn't  dead,  would  she  be  glad  to  see 
yer,  an'  she  yells  at  me,  'I  wouldn't  tech  him  with 
a  forty-foot  pole,  if  ther'  wuzn't  'nother  man  in 
the  world/  " 

"Did  she  have  the  gall  to  say  that?"  Foley  in- 
quired angrily. 

"That's  what  she  said,  an'  she  meant  it,  too. 
Yer  don't  stand  no  more  chanst  with  her  than  a 
feather  in  the  fi'ry  furnace." 

"If  she  talks  that  'ere  way,  durn  her,  I  won't 
let  her  marry  no  man,  if  I  swings  fer  it  a  minit 
after." 


"TWO  GENTLEMEN,  BORN  AN'  BRED"    293 

"Don't  be  rash  an'  let  'em  know  ye're  alive, 
Dennis,  though  it's  my  'pinion  that  we  orter  git 
even  with  the  hull  caboodle  of  'em,  fer  interferin' 
with  two  peaceful  gentlemen  born  an'  bred,  an' 
bringin'  us  all  the  way  on  here,  fer  only  a  measly 
two  hunderd  plunks." 

"Yes,  an'  durn  yer  skin,"  cried  Foley,  rising 
and  shaking  his  fist  in  Hildey's  face,  "I  ain't  seen 
a  red  cent  of  it." 

"Don't  be  hard  on  me,  beau,"  pleaded  Hildey, 
"  'cause  I  fergot  meself  once.  Yer  mark  my 
words,  ther's  a  lot  o'  fine  pickin'  roun'  here,  an* 
yer'll  say  so  when  yer  gits  yer  bearin's." 

"Well,  yer  can  bet  I  didn't  come  here  for  nuth- 
in',"  said  Foley,  bringing  his  hand  down  heavily 
on  the  table. 

"Now  yer  shoutin',"  exclaimed  Hildey. 

"I'm  goin'  out  now,"  grunted  Foley;  "I'm  feel- 
in*  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head.  I'll  look  round 
an'  see  the  lay  o'  the  Ian'." 

Promising  to  return  shortly,  Foley  put  on  his 
slouch  hat  and  started  on  his  tour  of  investi- 
gation. 

It  was  long  past  dusk  when  he  shambled  back. 

"How  does  things  look  to  yer?"  was  Hildey's 
first  question. 


294  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Dead  open  an'  shet,"  chuckled  Dennis.  "I  saw 
the  hull  caboodle — Molly  an'  Jebb  an'  Franklin. 
They  didn't  see  me,  an'  I  guess  they  wouldn't  'a' 
know'd  me  if  they  had.  I  wuz  a-talkin'  to  a  bloke 
to  fin'  out  what  he'd  say  'bout  Mary.  He  ups  an' 
sez :  'It's  a  mighty  good  thing  that  Dennis  Foley's 
dead,  fer  if  he  wuz  alive  an'  come  round  here 
botherin'  the  widder,  the  boys  'ud  jest  tar  an* 
feather  him,  an'  throw  him  inter  the  river.'  An' 
then  the  feller  tells  me  my  own  hist'ry,  an'  I  sez, 
'How  d'er  know  that's  so  ?'  And  he  sez,  'Colonel 
Franklin  has  let  ev'rybody  know  what  an  onery 
cuss  Dennis  Foley  wuz,  an'  what  the  Colonel  sez, 
goes.' 

"I  sez,  pretendin'  not  to  be  interested,  'What 
hez  Colonel  Franklin  got  ag'in  a  dead  man?' 

"The  Colonel  sez,  he  sez  to  me,  'The  devil  cer- 
t'nly  orter  have  Dennis  Foley,  for  he  wuz  a  traitor, 
an'  a  deserter,  an'  a  wife  beater,  an'  the  dirtiest 
coward  what  ever  lived/ 

"I  jest  b'iled  over  an'  walked  away,  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  I'd  git  even  with  that  Franklin,  an' 
the  hull  gang." 

"What's  yer  plan,  pard?"  asked  Hildey. 

"Fust  of  all,  we  wants  ter  pick  up  what  we  kin 
in  the  way  er  spondulix  to  git  even  with  them 


"TWO  GENTLEMEN,  BORN  AN'  BRED"    295 

people  round  here  fer  their  poor  'pinion  of  us," 
Foley  replied.  "Second,  I  wants  ter  sock  it  good 
an'  hard  to  the  ol'  gal  fer  fergettin'  to  keep  my 
mem'ry  green;  an'  third,  I  wants  to  make  that 
bilk  Franklin  feel  I  ain't  so  dead  as  he  thinks. 
But,  beau,  yer  needn't  go  in  cahoots  with  me  'less 
yer  got  nerve,  fer  it's  goin'  to  take  nerve  to  do  it. 
Are  yer  in  ?" 

"Count  on  me,"  was  Hildey's  quick  reply.  "I 
ain't  makin'  no  highfalutin'  bluffs,  but  I'll  stick  by 
yer  like  yer  shadder,  Dennis,  old  pard,  'specially 
if  I  kin  git  a  whack  at  that  old  stick-in-the-mud 
who  booted  me,  a  gentleman — " 

"Never  mind  that  now,"  interrupted  Foley. 
"This  is  me  plan,"  he  continued.  "To-morrer  we 
must  git  a  place  to  live,  where  the  old  Nick  his- 
self  can't  find  us,  an*  then  we'll  jest  work  out 
things  carefully." 

"I  knows  the  very  spot  to  hide,"  said  Hildey. 
"I  was  a-hoofin'  it  from  a  cop  one  day,  an'  jest 
stumbled  on  it,  lucky  like.  It's  a  big  cave  under 
a  bluff  on  the  river,  right  back  of  a  ol'  cemetery, 
an'  yer  kin  only  git  inter  it  under  a  rotten  wharf 
what  ain't  been  used  fer  years.  I'll  take  yer  down 
an'  show  it  to  yer  to-morrer,  an'  if  ye're  thinkin' 
it's  all  right,  we'll  move  there  fust  chance  we  gits." 


296  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Sounds  all  right,"  replied  Dennis,  "an'  I'll  see 
it  soon  as  I  kin." 

"What  d'yer  say  to  takin'  yer  son  Tom  in  as  a 
pardner?"  suggested  Hildey.  "He  knows  these 
diggin's  round  here  better  than  we  does,  an*  he 
might  come  in  handy." 

"  'Tain't  the  thing  yet  to  let  him  know  I'm  still 
on  deck,"  objected  Dennis,  "he'd  blab  it  sure  as 
eggs  is  eggs.  I  wants  him  to  think  I'm  dead,  yet  a 
while." 

"Jest  as  yer  say,  pard,  but  he's  with  us,"  re- 
sponded Hildey.  "Whenever  I  talk  to  him  he  jest 
gets  riled  about  yer  ol'  gal  marryin'  an*  keeps  on 
a-sayin',  Td  give  a  hull  lot  if  dad  wuz  here  an' 
cooked  her  goose.' ' 

"He's  got  no  right  to  hate  his  mother,"  inter- 
rupted Foley  with  emphasis. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other  slowly. 
"She's  no  better'n  she  ought  to  be,  I'm  a-thinkin'." 

"What  d'yer  mean  by  you're  a-thinkin?"  asked 
Foley  sharply. 

"Yer  knows  what  I  mean.  She'd  jest  let  any- 
thing that  wears  pants  an'  galluses  toddle  after 
her." 

This  attack  on  his  deserted  spouse  roused 
Foley's  pride  as  the  woman's  husband,  and,  jump- 


"TWO  GENTLEMEN,  BORN  AN'  BRED"    297 

ing  up,  he  caught  Hildey  by  the  throat,  pushed 
him  toward  the  wall  and  shouted : 

"Ye're  a  liar!  Don't  say  nuthin'  'gainst  my 
Molly;  there's  no  guess  comin'  'bout  her.  She's 
my  wife,  whether  er  no,  an  if  yer  says  'nother 
word  ag'in  her  I'll  beat  yer  to  a  pulp." 

"I  didn't  mean  nuthin'  'g'in  her  character,  Den- 
nis," said  Hildey,  wriggling  away,  "but  she's  no 
spring  chicken  an'  wouldn't  crack  under  the 
wings,  an'  she  orter  know  better  'n  to  let  a 
galoot  hang  round  her  afore  she  know'd  yer  wuz 
dead." 

"Mebbe  yer  right  'bout  that,"  mused  the  other 
after  a  long  pause,  "I  seen  her  to-day  a-walkin' 
with  that  bloke  what  wants  her.  I  wuz  restin'  in 
a  park,  layin'  on  a  bench,  so  they  couldn't  tell 
who  I  wuz,  an'  I  heerd  him  say  to  her,  Tm 
a-countin'  de  days  when  I  can  take  yer  to  my  heart 
an'  call  yer  my  own,'  an'  she  answered,  'So  am  I, 
Mr.  Jebb,'  a-blushin',  jest  like,  she  done  when  I 
fust  knew  her,  durn  her  carcass! 

"But  I'm  goin'  to  git  even  with  her  an'  ev'ry- 
body  what's  interfered  in  my  fam'ly  'fairs.  No- 
body's got  no  right  to  come  between  me  an'  my 
lawful  wedded  wife.  If  they  hadn't  I  wouldn't 
be  dead  now,  an'  she  wouldn't  be  a-list'nin'  to  that 


298  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

fool  a-talkin'  love.  It's  a  mighty  poor  world  when 
a  man  can't  be  away  five  years  without  some  one 
coaxin'  his  wife  off.  What  are  we  comin'  to, 
ennyhow?  But  I'll  make  'em  toe  the  mark,  see 
if  I  don't." 

Conditions  now  confronting  Foley  had  become 
an  exemplification  of  the  old  adage,  "Blessings 
brighten  as  they  take  their  flight."  Mary  Foley 
had  suddenly  assumed  an  importance  her  husband 
had  never  realized  before;  because  another  man 
loved  and  wanted  to  marry  her  the  miserable 
wretch  was  determined  upon  revenge,  and  this 
feeling  extended  to  every  one  who  was  friendly 
to  her. 

"John,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pull  at  his  second 
bottle,  "yer  remember  that  little  job  we  put  up  at 
Evansville  two  years  ago  ?" 

"Yer  mean  the  one  where  we  swiped  the  kid, 
an'  held  out  fer  big  money?"  asked  his  pal. 

"Exac'ly!  It  was  dead  easy,  the  way  we 
worked  it." 

"Yer  bet !  Nuthin'  like  a  stolen  kid  to  keep  the 
peelers  off,  an'  let  yer  transact  yer  bizness  with 
the  principals  fust  hand." 

"I  noticed  a  brat  to-day  runnin'  round  the  yard 
er  that  'ere  man,  Franklin.  The  black  wench, 


"TWO  GENTLEMEN,  BORN  AN'  BRED"    299 

what  tends  her,  calls  her  Lily.  If  we  could  kid- 
nap that  gal,  I'd  be  hittin'  two  birds  with  one 
stone;  git  revenge  an'  have  a  barrel  er  rhino,  be- 
sides." 

"It's  risky  bizness,  pard,"  whispered  Hildey, 
looking  around  nervously,  "means  lynch  law 
'mong  these  'ere  Southerners,  if  they  nab  yer." 

"Southerners  ain't  no  quicker  at  nabbin'  than 
enny  other  folks.  An'  we  ain't  goin'  to  be  nabbed. 
We'll  do  the  job  so  slick  that  we'll  keep  right  on 
stayin'  round  here  with  no  one  no  wiser." 

"How  yer  goin'  to  work  it?"  asked  the  other 
curiously. 

"It's  dirt  easy,"  chuckled  Foley. 

"All  right,  pard.  I've  always  been  with  yer, 
an'  if  we're  ketched,  we'll  jest  say  it's  four  o'clock 
with  both  of  us,  an'  take  our  medicine  like  two 
gentlemen  born  an'  bred." 

"Two  nuthin',"  sneered  Foley,  snapping  his 
fingers.  "In  a  town  like  this  the  newspaper  tells 
yer  even  what  folks  has  f er  dinner,  an'  how  many 
kids  has  got  the  colic.  Sooner  or  later  that  man 
Franklin  will  git  out  er  town  on  bizness,  and  the 
paper'll  say  so,  an'  then,  with  only  the  wimmin 
folks  an'  the  brats  in  the  house,  'tain't  nuthin' 
that's  goin'  to  stop  us." 


300  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

The  two  vagabonds  had  now  drawn  their  heads 
close  together,  and  were  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
versation that  became  almost  imperceptibly  faint, 
save  for  occasional  words — "dog-button,"  "chlo- 
roform," "how  much,"  "kid." 

Then  as  the  dim  and  flickering  candle  burned  to 
its  end,  Foley  and  Hildey,  grinning  hideously, 
clasped  hands,  and  a  moment  later  were  envel- 
oped in  the  darkness  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


For  the  two  weeks  following  Dennis  Foley's 
advent,  the  police  of  Pipetown  were  very  much 
exercised  at  the  daily  reports  of  robberies  com- 
mitted in  the  vicinity.  Jebb's  store  was  entered 
twice,  and  money  and  valuables  were  taken.  The 
work  showed  the  evidence  of  experts,  and,  so  far, 
every  clue  worked  upon  by  the  detectives  had 
come  to  naught. 

The  townspeople  had  heretofore  been  careless 
on  account  of  their  supposed  immunity  from 
thieves  and  burglars,  but  they  now  realized  that 
it  was  necessary  to  secure  windows  and  doors. 
Every  one  was  on  the  alert,  but  completely  mysti- 
fied that  the  robbers  had  so  far  eluded  detection. 

One  evening  on  returning  from  his  office,  Colo- 
nel Franklin  said  to  his  wife  as  the  family  gath- 
ered around  the  supper  table: 

"Nannie,  my  sister  Sophie  writes  that  Amelia 
is  to  be  married  on  Thursday.  They  are  going  to 

have  a  house  wedding,  and  she  is  very  anxious 
301 


302  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

that  mother,  you,  Edith,  and  myself  should  at- 
tend." 

"Whom  does  she  marry?"  said  the  grand- 
mother, with  sentimental  interest. 

"Oh,  Cad  Wilkins,  son  of  General  Wilkins, 
who  lives  at  Grimes'  Four  Corners.  He  comes  of 
one  of  the  oldest  and  best  families  of  southern 
Maryland." 

"I've  met  him,"  said  the  lady,  "he  will  make  a 
very  good  husband  for  Amelia,  I'm  sure." 

"I  think  it  will  be  our  duty  as  well  as  our  pleas- 
ure to  attend,"  said  the  Colonel.  "We  can  drive, 
leaving  here  at  ten  o'clock  Thursday  morning, 
and  reach  there  by  three.  The  wedding  is  to  take 
place  at  five,  and  there'll  be  a  reception  and  an 
old-fashioned  country  dance  that  night  at  Sophie's 
house." 

"I  do  hope  we  can  go,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  "I 
know  there'll  be  so  many  of  our  old  friends  there, 
and  we'll  surely  meet  many  acquaintances  we 
haven't  seen  in  years." 

It  was  thereupon  settled  that  they  would  make 
the  trip.  So  at  a  quarter  to  ten  on  Thursday 
morning  Matt  had  the  carriage  at  the  door,  and 
waited  for  the  three  ladies  and  Colonel  Franklin 
to  appear.  As  the  colored  man  stood  at  the  horse's 


SANDY  ON  THE  WATCH  303 

head,  he  noticed  a  shaggy-bearded,  stoop-shoul- 
dered rag-picker,  who  was  plying  his  vocation  in 
front  of  the  house,  gathering  bits  of  rags,  scraps 
of  paper,  bones  and  old  iron  from  the  gutters  and 
the  roadway. 

Gilbert,  Lillian  and  Delia  came  out  with  the  rest 
of  the  household.  After  the  wedding  party  had 
entered  the  carriage  and  the  children  had  been 
kissed  good-by  the  father  said  to  them : 

"Now,  be  very  good  and  don't  worry  Delia. 
We'll  be  home  to-morrow,  sometime.  And,  Delia, 
be  sure  to  lock  up  securely  to-night,  and  unchain 
Lion  before  you  turn  in."  After  a  few  more 
cheery  parting  words  from  the  parents  the  car- 
riage rolled  away. 

The  rag-picker  continued  his  labors  until  the 
vehicle  had  disappeared  in  the  distance.  Then  he 
suddenly  lost  interest  in  his  work,  and  shuffled 
slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  He 
finally  reached  a  lonely  spot  back  of  an  old  ceme- 
tery, and,  crawling  under  a  dilapidated  wharf, 
found  the  entrance  to  a  cave,  well  within  the  hill. 
He  whispered  softly  and  was  answered  by  a  voice, 
inquiring : 

"Is  that  you,  pard?" 

Pulling  off  his  disguise,  Dennis  Foley,  stoop- 


304  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

ing  beneath  the  low  roof,  groped  his  way  to  a 
dim  light  some  distance  inside. 

"What  d'yer  fin'  out,  Dennis?"  asked  Hildey 
anxiously. 

"Jest  what  the  paper  said  las'  night, — that 
Franklin  an'  the  wimmin  folks  wuz  a-goin'  down 
to  Marylan'  fer  a  weddin'  an'  wouldn't  be  back 
till  ter-morrer." 

"Why  pard,  it's  comin'  out  jest  as  if  it  wuz  pus- 
sonly  'ranged  fer  us." 

"It  looks  like  the  easiest  job  we  ever  tackled. 
There's  nobody  left  in  the  house,  but  that  black 
wench,  an'  the  boy  an'  the  kid,  an'  if  we  can't  bag 
the  brat,  we  ain't  got  no  right  to  be  in  the  bizness. 
Have  yer  got  the  dog-button  ready  ?" 

"Yep,  I've  fixed  it  up  good  an'  strong." 

"That  galoot,  Franklin,  tol'  the  wench  to  be 
sure  an'  unchain  the  bow-wow,  an'  that's  jest 
what  we  wants.  An'  the  cullud  lady  looks  as  if 
she'd  snooze  like  a  house  afire.  She  orter  be  dead 
easy.  I  guess  a  little  'go-ter-sleep'  on  a  han'k'- 
chief  will  do  the  hull  trick  in  less  time  than  a  pig's 
whistle." 

After  the  departure  of  Colonel  Franklin  and  his 
party,  Gilbert  went  to  Sandy's  house  and  found 
his  chum  all  alone.  Mrs.  Goggles  was  visiting 


SANDY  ON  THE  WATCH  305 

relatives  in  Baltimore,  and  was  not  expected  back 
for  a  week.  After  much  persuasion,  Sandy  finally 
accepted  Gilbert's  invitation  to  spend  the  days 
until  his  mother's  return  at  the  Franklin  home. 

"You  see,  Sandy,"  said  Gilbert,  "Lillian,  Delia 
and  I  are  keeping  house  all  by  ourselves,  and  it 
would  be  fine  to  have  you  come  and  boss  things." 

"Boss  yer  gran'mother,"  laughed  Sandy;  "but 
if  yer  really  wants  me,  little  codger,  I'll  come," 
— and  the  two  started  off. 

Lillian,  acting  as  hostess,  welcomed  Sandy  with 
charming  imitative  graciousness,  and  put  him 
wholly  at  his  ease.  The  afternoon  was  quickly 
passed  with  books  and  games. 

When  supper  was  over,  Gilbert  played  his  vio- 
lin, with  Lillian  and  Sandy  as  the  only  auditors, 
and  after  a  half-hour  of  backgammon,  Delia  came 
in  and  suggested  bed-time. 

She  took  Lillian  to  her  room  in  the  nursery  on 
the  second  floor,  and  then,  after  unchaining  Lion, 
a  magnificent  Newfoundland,  dog,  and  a  part  of 
the  family,  Delia  and  the  boys  fastened  doors  and 
windows  for  the  night.  Sandy  and  Gilbert  went 
to  the  latter's  room  on  the  third  floor,  and  after 
the  colored  woman  had  washed  the  supper  dishes 
and  put  them  away,  she  retired  to  her  room  in  the 


306  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

back  of  the  house.  In  a  very  short  time  all  the 
lights  were  out,  and  everybody  was  fast  asleep. 

The  bells  of  St.  Peter's  chimed  out  midnight. 
Sandy  was  awakened  by  the  low,  deep  growling 
of  the  dog.  He  listened  intently,  and  thought  he 
heard  the  animal  walk  on  the  porch  at  the  rear  of 
the  house.  But  the  boy  closed  his  eyes  again  and 
soon  dozed  off. 

In  a  little  while  he  was  startled  again,  this  time 
by  the  cry  of  a  child.  He  jumped  out  of  bed  and 
drew  on  his  clothes  hastily,  his  ears  strained  to 
catch  the  slightest  sound,  and  his  mind  filled  with 
some  foreboding  of  evil.  He  heard  Lillian  speak : 

"Is  that  you,  Gil?" 

"Gil,  Gil !"  whispered  Sandy,  shaking  the  sleep- 
ing boy. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  younger,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  sitting  up. 

"Gil,  Gil,  I  heard  yer  little  sister  call  yer,  mebbe 
she  wants  somethin'." 

Gilbert  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  called 
down :  "Lily,  do  you  want  me  ?" 

"Are  you  up  there,  Gil?  I  thought  you  were 
down  here.  Somebody's  walking  round  my 
room." 

"I'll  come  right  down,  dearie,"  said  the  little 


SANDY  ON  THE  WATCH  307 

fellow,  striking  a  match  to  light  the  gas. 

"Gil,  come  quick!"  screamed  the  child,  at  the 
top  of  her  voice. 

"Damn  yer!"  came  through  the  darkness.  It 
was  a  man's  voice,  and  the  boys  heard  some  one 
hastily  descending  the  stairs. 

Down  dashed  Sandy,  three  steps  at  a  time. 
When  he  came  to  the  first  floor  he  groped  in  the 
darkness  toward  the  door.  Just  as  he  reached  it,  a 
bull's-eye  lantern  was  flashed  in  his  face.  Like  a 
tiger  he  jumped  for  the  light,  and  grappled  with 
the  intruder.  His  onslaught  was  so  sudden  that 
the  lantern  was  shifted  for  an  instant,  and  Sandy 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Dennis  Foley. 

There  was  a  short  scuffle,  a  cry  of  "Take  that, 
yer  fool !"  and  Foley  struck  the  boy  a  terrific  blow 
with  a  sling-shot.  Sandy  grabbed  wildly,  then 
fell  in  an  unconscious  heap  on  the  floor. 

Opening  the  door,  Foley  rushed  out  and  joined 
Hildey,  who  had  been  waiting  under  the  shadow 
of  a  near-by  tree. 

"Hustle  fer  all  yer  worth.  The  bloke's  tumbled 
an'  the  game's  up  fer  to-night.  I'll  meet  yer  at  the 
place," — and  away  they  ran  in  different  direc- 
tions. 

As  soon  as  Gilbert  had  quieted  the  fears  of  his 


308  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

frightened  sister,  he  awakened  Delia,  and  then 
hurried  to  the  stairway,  calling  for  Sandy.  No 
response  came. 

"I  guess  Sandy  is  chasing  that  man  out  on  the 
street,"  said  the  little  fellow,  as  he  slowly  felt  his 
way  down  stairs.  Unexpectedly  he  stumbled  on 
a  prostrate  form.  He  stooped,  and  in  an  instant 
knew  it  was  Sandy. 

"Sandy,  Sandy,"  he  called,  "speak  to  me.  Are 
you  hurt  ?  What  has  happened  ?" 

In  the  darkness  he  placed  his  hand  under  the 
head  of  the  senseless  boy  and  felt  the  warm  blood 
oozing  from  a  deep  wound.  In  agony  and  de- 
spair, he  cried  out : 

"Oh,  God,  don't  let  him  die!  don't  let  him  die!" 
Then  he  shouted,  "Delia,  Delia  come  quick; 
Sandy's  hurt." 

The  servant  hurried  down,  lighted  the  gas  at 
the  landing  and  in  the  room,  and,  with  the  help 
of  Gilbert,  raised  the  unconscious  boy  and  gently 
placed  him  on  a  couch.  Gilbert  put  his  ear  over 
Sandy's  heart,  and  whispered  joyously: 

"It's  beating,  Delia;  it's  beating!"  The  col- 
ored woman  gently  sponged  the  blood  from  the 
ugly  wound  just  above  the  boy's  temple. 

Sandy  moved  slightly,  groaned,  as  if  in  great 


SANDY    FELL    IN    AN    UNCONSCIOUS    HEAP    ON    THE    FLOOR 

Page  307 


SANDY  ON  THE  WATCH  309 

pain,  murmured  some  incoherent  words,  and 
slowly  opened  his  eyes.  Gilbert  knelt  by  him,  and 
said  softly: 

"Sandy,  tell  me ;  what  is  it  ?  how  did  it  happen  ? 
Who  did  it  ?" 

Sandy  looked  around  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  light  of  reason  came  back  once  more  into  his 
face. 

"Golly,  but  that  wuz  a  whack !"  he  said  faintly, 
trying  to  smile  through  his  pain.  "That  feller 
what  banged  me  is  a  dirty  coward.  He  jest  hid 
back  of  the  door  till  I  got  down,  an'  didn't  gimme 
no  chance  f er  my  white  alley.  I  seen  his  face  an' 
I  seen  his  hand  with  only  three  fingers  on  it,  an' 
I  pulled  a  button  off  his  coat  when  I  went  fer  him. 
I'll  know  him  ag'in,  if  I  don't  see  him  for  a  thou- 
sand years." 

Then  the  boy  sank  back  again,  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted from  the  loss  of  blood.  Gilbert  hurriedly 
dressed  and  ran  for  the  doctor,  who  came  in  all 
possible  haste.  After  dressing  the  wound  the  sur- 
geon said  gravely: 

"It's  a  mighty  lucky  thing  for  you,  young  man, 
that  that  blow  didn't  catch  you  half  an  inch  lower. 
I  shouldn't  like  to  say  what  might  have  hap- 
pened." 


310  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  ain't  a-sayin'  nuthin',"  said  the  wounded 
boy,  "but  if  I  ever  see  that  feller  ag'in,  I'll  know 
him,  an'  he'll  know  I  know  him." 

The  next  morning  the  dead  body  of  the  faithful 
dog  was  found,  outside  the  kitchen  door.  He  had 
died  at  his  post,  while  trying  to  guard  those  whom 
he  loved  and  who  loved  him. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

CHRISTMAS 


It  was  the  day  before  Christmas.  At  four 
o'clock  the  wedding  of  Mr.  Jebb  and  Mrs.  Foley 
was  to  be  solemnized  at  the  old  G  Street  church. 
The  local  papers  had  contained  pleasant  notices 
of  the  coming  event,  and  had  referred  to  certain 
episodes  in  Mrs.  Foley's  personal  history,  among 
them  the  manner  in  which  the  death  of  her  former 
husband  had  been  finally  established. 

A  short  bridal  tour  was  to  be  made,  and  the 
grocer  had  planned,  with  the  coming  of  the  New 
Year,  to  move  into  a  cozy  little  cottage  which  he 
had  presented  to  his  bride-elect. 

The  usual  neighborhood  interest  in  occasions 
of  this  character  was  plainly  in  evidence  at  the 
church,  which  was  filled  to  overflowing. 

The  Jedge  appeared  in  a  high  choker,  white 
cravat,  and  a  long  black  coat  of  the  old  regime, 
and  had  gone  so  far,  even,  as  to  wear  white  cotton 
gloves.  He  moved  about  like  a  master  of  cere- 
monies, radiating  geniality. 
3" 


312  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"These  'ere  occasions,"  he  said,  as  he  led 
Grandmother  Franklin  to  a  seat,  "these  'ere  occa- 
sions are  progressive  steps  in  the  upward  trend  o' 
modern  civilization,  as  scientific  men  would  say. 
Jest  think  o'  the  Hottentots,  the  Cannabiles,  an' 
others  too  numerous  to  mention.  Did  they  go  to 
a  church  to  git  hitched  ?  Not  on  yer  tintype.  Ef 
Mr.  Jebb  had  been  one  of  them  aberigines,  he'd  er 
jest  hid  round  the  corner,  with  a  shillalie  in  his 
hand  an'  when  the  widder  come  'long,  thinkin'  o' 
nuthin'  in  partic'lar,  he'd  creep  up  behind,  an' 
BIFF!  When  she'd  come  to,  she'd  be  Mrs.  Jebb, 
'cordin'  to  law.  Things  do  change!"  concluded 
the  old  man,  with  deep  conviction. 

As  the  morning  paper  stated  the  following  day, 
"The  wedding  guests  were  regaled  with  a  superb 
musical  program  by  the  organist,  and  finally, 
as  Mendelssohn's  Wedding  March  reverberated 
through  the  sacred  edifice,  the  high  contracting 
parties,  Mr.  Jebb  and  Mrs.  Foley,  came  up  the 
aisle  and  stood  before  the  chancel." 

The  minister  began  the  service:  "Dearly  be- 
loved, we  are  gathered  together  here  in  the  sight 
of  God,  and  in  the  face  of  this  company,  to  join 
together  this  man  and  this  woman  in  holy  matri- 
mony ;  which  is  commended  of  St.  Paul  to  be  hon- 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  313 

orable  among  all  men :  and  therefore  is  not  by  any 
to  be  entered  into  unadvisedly  or  lightly ;  but  rev- 
erently, discreetly,  advisedly,  soberly,  and  in  the 
fear  of  God.  Into  this  holy  estate  these  two  per- 
sons present  come  now  to  be  joined.  If  any  man 
can  show  just  cause  why  they  may  not  lawfully 
be  joined  together,  let  him  now  speak,  or  else 
hereafter  for  ever  hold  his  peace." 

"Hold  on!"  shouted  a  rough  voice  from  the 
direction  of  the  gallery. 

The  clergyman  stopped,  and  the  startled  con- 
gregation turned  to  see  from  whom  the  words  had 
come.  In  the  little  gallery  above,  with  his  hands 
grasping  the  railing  and  leaning  far  over,  stood 
an  unkempt,  unshaven  figure,  a  malignant  gleam 
in  his  snaky  eyes. 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  inquired  the  minister. 

"I  kin  show  cause  why  they  can't  marry,"  tri- 
umphantly exclaimed  the  stranger. 

"God  forgive  me !"  cried  the  bride,  clasping  her 
hands,  "that's  Dennis  Foley  talking." 

"I  ask  again,  what  does  this  mean?"  said  the 
clergyman. 

"It  means,"  roared  Foley,  "that  she  can't  marry 
that  galoot,  'cause  she  b'longs  ter  me." 

"It's   true,    it's   true,"    moaned   the   unhappy 


314  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

woman,  and,  sinking  on  her  knees,  her  hands 
clinging  to  the  chancel,  meaningly  she  repeated : 
"Oh,  God  in  Heaven,  let  me  die — let  me  die !" 

The  clergyman  raised  his  hand,  stilling  the  sur- 
prised and  excited  people. 

"Brethren,  I  can  not  proceed  with  this  cere- 
mony until  these  charges  are  properly  investi- 
gated." 

Jebb  knelt  by  the  stricken  figure,  and  tried  to 
whisper  words  of  comfort.  The  clergyman  bent 
toward  the  kneeling  woman  and  raised  her  to  her 
feet,  conversed  with  her  a  moment,  and  then  said 
aloud : 

"Mrs.  Foley  states  to  me  that  the  man  who  in- 
terrupted this  ceremony  is  her  lawful  husband." 

"That's  right,"  came  the  voice  from  the  gallery, 
"I'm  her  husband.  She's  my  lorful  wedded  wife, 
an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  give  her  up  ter  nobody." 

"I  would  suggest  that  the  guests  retire,"  said 
the  clergyman. 

The  congregation  filed  slowly  from  the  church, 
and  in  the  murmur  of  excited  comment,  it  could 
be  noted  that  sympathy  was  clearly  with  Mr.  Jebb 
and  Mrs.  Foley.  They,  with  the  minister,  re- 
mained in  the  church,  while  in  the  gallery  Foley 
stood,  waiting  for  some  sign  from  those  below. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  315 

As  the  Jedge  walked  slowly  down  the  aisle,  the 
grocer  hurried  to  him  and  asked  him  to  remain. 
When  the  church  had  been  cleared,  Jebb  said  to 
the  minister : 

"We  had  every  reason  to  suppose  that  Dennis 
Foley  was  dead."  Then  he  explained  what  had 
been  done  by  Colonel  Franklin  and  himself  to 
secure  information,  telling  also  of  the  sworn  state- 
ment of  Hildey  as  to  Foley's  death. 

"As  there  was  no  apparent  object  why  he 
should  lie,"  continued  Jebb,  "we  believed  his  state- 
ment, and  thought  we  had  a  clear  right  to  marry, 
until  this  development  to-day." 

The  Jedge  called  up :  "Foley,  come  down  here, 
we  wants  to  talk  to  yer." 

"I'll  be  down,  durn  quick." 

When  Foley  had  walked  up  the  aisle,  the  Jedge 
asked  him  sharply:  "Where' ve  yer  bin  all  these 
years,  an'  why  d'yer  turn  up  jest  now?" 

"I've  bin  down  in  Cuby  where  the  Johnnie 
Rebs  sent  me,  an'  I  couldn't  git  back  afore,"  said 
the  tramp,  grinning  at  the  recollection  of  Tom's 
idea. 

"That's  lie  number  one,"  burst  out  the  Jedge. 
"How'd  yer  know  this  weddin'  wuz  to  take 
place?" 


316  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  read  it  in  the  sassiety  papers,"  tauntingly 
said  Foley. 

"If  yer  read  it  in  the  papers,  why  didn't  yer 
go  to  yer  wife  like  a  man  an'  tell  her  yer  wuz 
alive?" 

"I  wuz  afear'd  it  might  make  her  nerv'us," 
with  a  sneer. 

"Lie  number  two !  Ye' re  a  scoundrel,  an'  I  be- 
lieve yer  did  it  'cause  yer  wanted  ter  make  her 
feel  like  the  little  end  o'  nuthin'." 

"I  ain't  got  no  good  blood  fer  her  failin'  to 
keep  my  mem'ry  green.  Yer  can't  blame  me  fer 
sockin'  it  to  her,  fer  fergettin'  a  man  like  me, — 
a  gentleman  born  an'  bred, — to  marry  a  snoozer 
like  that.  I  heerd  she  sed  she  wouldn't  tech  me 
with  a  forty-foot  pole.  I'll  be  durned  if  she'll 
tech  any  one  else  with  one.  An'  that's  the  rea- 
son I  give  yer  all  a  surprise  party." 

"An'  I  bet  yer  expect  to  make  some  money  out 
er  it." 

"That's  my  lay,  Guv'ner;  yer  struck  the  nail 
right  on  the  head.  If  I  wuz  dead  an'  done  fer, 
there'd  be  nuthin'  comin'  to  me,  but  she's  my  wife 
an'  she  can't  deny  it." 

"I  don't  deny  it.  I  consented  to  marry  'cause 
I  believed  you  dead.  I  wish  I  was,  and  the  shame 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  317 

and  sorrow  of  this  day  buried  with  me," — and 
the  widow  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Molly.  Ain't  yer  goin' 
to  give  a  howdy-do  kiss  to  yer  hubby?" 

"Oh,  keep  away;  don't  touch  me!"  cried  the 
unhappy  woman,  shrinking  back. 

"Is  that  the  way  to  treat  yer  long-lost  darlin'  ?" 
wailed  the  reprobate  in  a  mocking  tone. 

The  Jedge's  blood  was  up.  He  grasped  Foley 
by  the  collar,  and  shook  him  till  his  teeth  rattled. 

"I  knows  this  ain't  no  picnic  o'  mine,"  he  said, 
"but  if  yer  open  yer  potater  trap,  'less  yer  spoken 
to,  in  the  presence  o'  the  widder,  durn  yer,  I'll 
break  yer  in  two,  an'  scatter  the  pieces !" 

A  word  from  the  minister,  and  the  Jedge  re- 
leased his  hold. 

"  'Tain't  no  affair  o'  your'n  to  meddle  'tween 
husban'  an'  wife,"  whined  the  tramp,  but  he  kept 
well  out  of  the  Jedge's  reach. 

"I'll  make  it  my  affair,  yer  rum-soaked  loafer, 
you,  an'  if  yer  open  yer  mouth  ag'in,  when  I  git 
through  with  yer,  there  won't  be  no.  mistake  'bout 
the  widder  bein'  a  widder." 

The  preacher  and  Jebb  begged  the  Jedge  to  sit 
down,  and  not  excite  himself.  The  old  fellow 
was  finally  quieted. 


318  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"What's  to  be  done?"  asked  the  grocer,  anx- 
iously. 

"Nothing  can  be  done  at  present/'  said  the 
clergyman.  "There's  no  doubt  that  this  man  is 
Mrs.  Foley's  husband.  She  can  remarry  only 
when  death  or  the  law  intervenes." 

"That's  jest  it,  parson,"  said  Foley.  "Now, 
what'll  the  feller  what  wants  ter  step  in  my  boots 
gimme,  if  I  go  'way  an'  never  come  back  no  more, 
an'  let  Molly  git  a  divorce?" 

"He'll  give  you  nuthin',"  said  the  wife,  "I 
wouldn't  let  him  pay  you  a  cent  to  have  me  free, 
if  you  lived  to  be  as  old  as  Methus'lem." 

"All  right,  Molly,  I'll  hang  roun'  here  an'  make 
myself  to  hum,  which  I  has  a  right  to,  an'  if  yer 
don't  treat  me  like  a  faithful  wife  should,  I'll 
have  the  law  on  yer." 

The  Jedge  began  to  boil  again,  and,  rising,  said : 

"I've  made  it  a  rule  never  to  interfere  in  fam'ly 
'fairs,  an'  I  don't  perpose  to  begin  now,  but  as  a 
man  what  desires  to  keep  the  moral  atmosphere 
of  this  'ere  town  clean,  as  scientific  men  would 
say,  I'm  goin'  to  make  it  my  bizness  to  watch  yer 
in  this  burg,  an'  if  yer  look  cross-eyed,  I'll  lam 
the  life  out  er  yer,  an'  if  yer  don't  git  out  er  here 
quick,  I'll  start  right  now." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  319 

Foley,  fearing  the  indignation  of  the  Jedge, 
walked  down  the  aisle  and  out  of  the  church,  with 
the  parting  shot : 

"I'll  be  round  fer  supper,  Molly,  so  be  sure  an' 
put  the  kettle  on." 

Standing  in  the  church-yard  was  a  group  of 
men  and  boys,  and  the  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tion was  the  unhappy  ending  of  the  ceremony.  In 
the  gathering  were  Gilbert  and  Sandy,  the  latter 
with  his  head  still  bandaged.  As  Foley  came 
slouching  into  view,  the  crowd  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

Sandy  eyed  him  with  absorbing  and  ever-in- 
creasing interest.  With  a  cry,  "That's  him,  that's 
the  man,"  he  darted  under  the  fellow's  upraised 
arm,  and,  clutching  his  windpipe,  tripped  Foley, 
and  held  him  a  prisoner. 

"Yer  dirty  coward!"  shouted  the  boy,  "you're 
the  bum  what  whacked  me  t'other  night." 

In  a  moment  the  Jedge,  who  had  come  out  of 
the  church,  together  with  a  number  of  friends, 
held  the  mari  prisoner,  while  Gilbert  rushed  for 
a  policeman.  Shortly  afterward  Foley,  with  nip- 
pers on  his  wrists,  and  a  big  crowd  following,  was 
being  led  to  the  police  station  two  blocks  away. 

"It's  all  a  mistake,"  he  persisted.     "I'll  have 


320  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

the  law  on  yer, — me,  a  peaceable  citizen,  what's 
jest  come  here  to  git  my  rights.  Yer've  got  no 
license  to  'rest  me,"  he  said  to  the  policeman. 
But  that  functionary  did  not  release  his  hold. 

Tom  Foley  had  been  an  interested  spectator 
from  the  time  his  mother  came  into  the  church 
on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Jebb,  until  the  arrest  of  his 
father.  He  remained  discreetly  in  the  background 
and  was  careful  not  to  express  any  opinion.  At 
the  hearing  at  the  police  station  he  stood  at  the 
back  of  the  crowd,  but  listened  attentively  to  all 
the  proceedings.  After  the  prisoner  had  given 
his  name,  the  sergeant  asked : 

"What  is  the  charge,  officer?" 

"Burglary  and  attempted  murder." 

"Who  makes  the  charge?" 

"Sandy  Goggles,  sir." 

"Sandy  Goggles,  step  forward." 

Sandy  came  up  to  the  desk. 

"State  in  your  own  words,  on  what  grounds 
you  make  this  charge." 

"It  was  this  'ere  way,  Sergeant,"  began  Sandy. 
"I  wuz  a-stayin'  at  Colonel  Franklin's  with  the  lit- 
tle codger  las'  Thursday  night,  'cause  his  folks 
had  gone  down  to  Grimes'  Four  Corners  to  a 
weddin'.  'Long  'bout  twelve  o'clock  I  wakes  up, 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  321 

an'  I  hears  Gil's  little  sister,  Lillian,  a-callin'  fer 
Gil.  I  shakes  him,  an'  then  he  hears  her  callin', 
'Gil,  somebody's  in  my  room.'  Both  of  us,  me 
an'  Gil,  starts  down  as  fast  as  we  kin,  an'  Gil 
runs  into  his  sister's  room,  while  I  keeps  a-goin' 
down,  follerin'  somebody  what  was  a-runnin' 
helter-skelter.  When  I  gits  to  the  bottom,  I  feels 
my  way,  'cause  it's  dark  as  pitch,  an'  afore  I 
knows  it,  this  'ere  feller  flashed  a  bull's-eye  lan- 
tern in  my  face,  an'  when  I  jumps  fer  his  throat, 
BIFF,  he  gives  me  one  fer  keeps,  an'  I  didn't  see 
nuthin'  no  more." 

"But  how  do  you  know  he  is  the  man  ?"  asked 
the  sergeant 

"Why,  because  he's  one  finger  shy  on  his  right 
hand,  an'  a  button  short  on  his  coat." 

"Well,  what  o'  that?"  broke  in  Foley. 

"What  o'  that?"  Sandy  replied,  looking  at  the 
prisoner,  "when  yer  raised  yer  blackjack  ter  bang 
me,  I  seen  yer  only  had  three  fingers,  an'  when  I 
came  to,  I  had  this  button  in  my  hand,  which 
b'longs  right  there  on  yer  coat,"  pointing  to  a 
spot  where  the  button  was  missing,  and  the  cloth 
torn. 

"Why,  I  lost  that  button  yesterday,"  snapped 
Foley. 


322  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  s'pose  yer  lost  that  finger  yesterday,  too," 
sarcastically  suggested  the  Jedge. 

"The  prisoner  stands  committed  until  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow,  when  the  justice  can  hear  fur- 
ther testimony  in  the  case,"  said  the  sergeant 
sharply,  making  his  record  very  carefully  on  the 
docket. 

Foley  was  led  to  the  little  lockup  in  the  rear  of 
the  station,  and  left  to  his  own  meditations,  while 
the  crowd  slowly  dispersed,  Sandy,  Gilbert  and 
the  Jedge  going  away  together. 

"I  know'd  I'd  know  him,  if  I  ever  seen  him 
ag'in,  an'  I  felt  it  in  my  bones  that  he'd  know  I 
know'd  him,  an'  I  guess  he  does,"  said  the 
wounded  boy. 

"I've  got  it  in  fer  him  any  way  he  takes  it," 
interposed  the  Jedge  decidedly.  "It  wuz  bad  'miff 
fer  him  ter  whack  yer  in  the  dark,  but  after  all, 
that  may  be  excused  in  the  line  of  perfessional 
duty,  as  scientific  men  say,  as  burglars  do  that 
sort  of  thing,  an'  therefore  that  may  be  over- 
looked. But  I'll  never  fergive  the  mean  sucker 
fer  breakin'  up  a  nice  weddin'  like  Mr.  Jebb's  an' 
the  widder's.  No  way  yer  can  see  it,  can  yer 
make  it  out  that  that  wuz  in  the  line  o'  duty.  It 
wuz  jest  pure  cussedness,  combined  with  total  de- 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  323 

pravity,  an'  he  orter  be  kicked  from  Alpha  to 
Omaha,  an'  back  ag'in;  hangin's  too  good  fer 
him." 

As  Tom  Foley  heard  the  sergeant  commit  his 
father  to  the  lockup  for  the  night,  he  slipped  out 
of  the  station  and  hurried  home.  With  a  show 
of  tears,  he  put  his  arms  around  his  mother's 
neck,  and  told  her  how  sorry  he  was  that  his 
father  had  brought  disgrace  on  her.  She  was  so 
struck  by  his  unusual  show  of  sympathy,  that  she 
kissed  him  again  and  again.  His  touching  solici- 
tude for  her,  in  this  most  trying  situation,  moved 
her  deeply. 

After  he  had  eaten  a  hearty  supper,  Tom  ap- 
proached his  mother  and  kissing  her  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  great  affection,  said,  "Mum,  I'll  be 
home  soon,"  took  his  hat  and  went  out. 

As  he  walked  slowly  toward  the  jail  an  old 
man,  greatly  bent  and  apparently  feeble,  brushed 
against  him. 

"Look  out  where  you're  goin',"  snarled  the 
boy,  raising  his  foot  as  if  to  kick. 

"It's  me,  Tom,"  whispered  the  old  man,  who 
was  Hildey  in  disguise.  "As  soon  as  yer  can, 
come  down  to  the  old  Burnt  Bridge  an'  don't  lose 
a  minute." 


324  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"All  right,"  returned  the  boy,  "I'll  be  down 
'fore  yer  kin  git  there." 

He  flew  along  the  streets  and  was  soon  at  the 
river,  where  he  awaited  Hildey's  coming.  The 
other  appeared,  and  led  the  boy  along  the  dark 
and  dreary  shore,  and  into  the  cave. 

"I'm  'fraid,"  said  Hildey,  "yer  father  made  a 
mess  o'  goin'  into  that  church.  I  tol'  him  a  lot  o' 
times  to  let  the  ol'  gal  git  hitched,  an'  then  git 
even.  But  he  wouldn't  listen  to  me,  because  he 
wanted  revenge  on  the  hull  outfit,  an'  he  sed  if 
he  broke  up  the  weddin'  in  church,  it  would  be 
er  great  sensashun,  an'  he  could  make  money  out 
er  it,  a-showin'  hisself  in  er  circus  or  a  dime 
musyum,  an'  mebbe  he  could  coax  yer  mother  to 
go  'long  with  him,  a-givin'  exhibishuns  like  them 
marble  staturs  yer  see  ev'ry  now  an'  then,  but  it 
didn't  work,  an'  now  pore  Dennis  is  jugged." 

"Why  didn't  yer  tell  me  the  ol'  man  wuz 
alive  ?" 

"I  wanted  to,  but  yer  father  thought  it  might 
git  yer  inter  trouble,  if  anythin'  happened  jest  like 
what's  happened  to-day." 

"Did  dad  whack  that  feller?" 

"He  did,  fer  truth." 

"Bully  fer  dad.    I  hate  that  big,  blowin'  Cog- 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  325 

gles.  He's  never  been  no  frien'  of  mine,  an'  I 
wish  dad  had  er  knocked  him  out  fer  good,  when 
he  whacked  him." 

"Yer  dad  thought  at  fust  he  did.  It's  wonder- 
ful he  didn't  put  his  lights  out,  fer  he  sez  he  tried 
to  make  it  a  case  o'  'Dead  men  tells  no  tales.' ' 

"I  'spose  they'll  make  it  as  hard  as  they  kin  fer 
poor  dad,  won't  they?" 

"Won't  be  much  trouble  provin'  it  on  him,  if 
we  let's  'em,  an'  that's  where  you  comes  in,"  said 
Hildey. 

"How  d'yer  mean?" 

"Yer  dad's  got  ter  get  out  er  that  'ere  lockup 
ter-night,  an'  yer've  got  to  git  him  out." 

"How'm  I  goin'  to  do  it?"  asked  the  boy  anx- 
iously. 

"Easy  as  dirt.  I  looked  at  that  calaboose  to- 
day after  yer  dad  wuz  run  in.  'Tain't  nuthin' 
to  saw  out  er  there,  if  it's  worked  right.  Have 
yer  got  nerve  to  help  him?" 

"Course  I  hev,  if  I  swing  fer  it,"  said  the  boy. 

"To-night's  the  only  time  it  kin  be  done.  When 
he  comes  up  to-morrer,  they'll  jug  him  in  the  big 
jail,  an'  before  yer  can  say  Jack  Robi'son,  he'll- 
be  railroaded  to  the  pen  fer  fifteen  years  at  least. 
Think  er  the  awful  disgrace  on  yer,  Tom!" 


326  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  tell  yer  I'll  do  anythin'  to  save  dad." 

"That's  the  talk.  Jest  take  these  two  little  tools,, 
an'  find  a  way  to  git  'em  to  yer  dad  to-night." 

Snarley  took  the  small  file  and  saw  offered  by 
Hildey,  carefully  put  them  in  an  inside  pocket, 
and,  rising  to  go,  said,  "Well,  good-by,  old  man. 
I'm  off  fer  ter  help  dad.  I  do  hope  nobody'll  ketch 
me," — this  apprehensively. 

"Nobody  '11  ketch  yer,  Tom,  if  yer  keep  yer  eye 
peeled." 

"I'm  a-shiverin'  at  the  thought  of  it,"  whis- 
pered the  younger  with  fear  in  his  heart,  "but 
I'll  try  ter  free  the  old  man,  if  I  swing  fer  it." 

"Bosh!  Yer  won't  swing  ^er  it  one  way  or 
t'other,  Tom.  Put  some  sand  in  yer  craw,  an' 
don't  fergit  I'll  be  a-settin'  up  an'  waitin'  fer  yer 
all  night." 

The  lockup  was  a  one-story  frame  building 
containing  four  cells.  It  was  located  on  an  open 
lot,  at  least  a  hundred  feet  in  the  rear  of  the 
police  station,  and  was  approached  through  an 
alley  that  ran  along  the  side  of  the  "hall."  To 
engage  a  special  watchman  for  this  little  prison 
had  never  been  thought  necessary,  since,  ordi- 
narily, it  was  occupied  only  by  common  drunks 
and  petty  violators  of  the  law.  True,  a  police 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  327 

officer  passed  the  place  every  two  hours,  but  only 
as  a  matter  of  form  and  perfunctory  detail. 

When  Foley  was  taken  from  the  sergeant's 
court  he  was  placed  in  a  rear  cell,  where,  through 
a  grated  window,  he  could  see  every  one  using 
the  alley  as  a  thoroughfare. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  travel  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ceased,  he  threw  himself  on  his  iron  bed 
and  soon  was  fast  asleep.  Shortly  after  mid- 
night, he  was  awakened  by  tappings  on  the  ledge 
of  his  window. 

"Who's  there?"  he  asked  gruffly,  and  sprang 
to  the  grating. 

"Hush!"  came  from  a  boy's  voice. 

Standing  on  tiptoe  Foley  peered  down  through 
the  bars. 

"Dad,  it's  me,"  were  the  words  he  heard. 

"Who's  yer  dad  ?"  he  asked  almost  savagely. 

"You're  my  dad.  I'm  Tom  Foley,  an'  I've 
come  to  git  yer  out,"  was  the  answer. 

"What's  yer  game  ?"  whispered  the  father,  now 
awake  and  fully  alert. 

"Here's  a  saw  an'  file,"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
handed  the  tools  to  him,  "an'  yer  can  easy  cut  yer 
way  out.  The  p'liceman  will  be  round  soon  an' 
yer  can  hear  him  comin',  fer  he  always  whacks 


328  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

his  night-stick  at  the  corner  up  there.  After  he's 
gone,  I'll  be  waitin'  fer  yer  at  the  end  er  the  alley, 
an'  I'll  hide  till  yer  come." 

Then  Tom  disappeared  hurriedly,  warned  by 
the  blow  of  the  policeman's  club  against  the  pave- 
ment. A  moment  later,  the  officer  was  inspect- 
ing the  bars  and  locks  of  the  little  prison,  and 
finding  that  all  was  well,  he  continued  as  usual 
on  his  beat. 

In  half  an  hour  Foley  had  sawed  and  filed  his 
way  out.  Creeping  cautiously  up  the  alley  he 
was  joined  by  his  son,  and  together  they  hastened 
through  back  streets,  over  commons  and  vacant 
lots  until  they  reached  the  river.  Crawling  under 
the  wharf,  they  entered  the  cave,  where  Hildey 
greeted  them  with:  "Well,  yer  fooled  'em,  didn't 
yer?" 

"I'd  'a'  died  afore  I'd  a-stopped  gittin'  dad 
out,"  was  Tom's  bravado  answer. 

"  'Twould  'a'  meant  fifteen  years,  if  it  had 
meant  a  minit,"  interrupted  Hildey,  "if  yer 
couldn't  a-got  out  to-night." 

"That's  so,"  said  Tom,  "fer  I  heerd  that  galoot, 
Franklin,  say  when  I  come  out  er  the  station 
yest'day,  that  he  wuz  goin'  to  prosecute  the  case 
an'  send  dad  away  fer  the  longest  term  he  could. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  329 

It  jest  made  my  blood  bile,  an'  I  could  a-killed 
him  on  the  spot." 

"Spoke  like  a  true  son!"  said  the  father,  and 
the  delectable  pair  embraced. 

"Don't  yer  think  we'd  better  vamoose?"  asked 
Hildey  apprehensively. 

"No,  not  yet.  We'd  be  ketched  if  we  did.  I've 
got  a  better  plan.  Pard,  yer  put  on  my  coat  an' 
hat,  an'  go  to  the  B.  and  O.  station.  It'll  be  open 
afore  light,  to  sdl  tickets  fer  the  early  train  to 
Philadelphy.  Sneak  up  careful,  an'  when  yer  git 
there,  if  yer  don't  see  any  one  yer  know,  show 
yerself  to  ev'rybody  roun'  the  station  so  they  kin 
git  a  good  look  at  yer.  Then  buy  yer  ticket,  an' 
do  as  much  talkin'  with  the  ticket  agent  as  yer  kin. 
When  the  train  comes  'long  it'll  still  be  dark,  then 
yer  jest  git  aboard,  but  as  soon  as  it  starts,  jump 
off  on  t'other  side  an'  come  right  back  here.  Of 
course,  they'll  all  think  I've  gone  'way,  and  '11  try 
to  trace  me,  but  all  the  time  we'll  be  restin'  here, 
snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug,  an'  a-settlin'  what  we're 
goin'  to  do  to  git  even." 

"But,  don't  yer  think  they  might  nab  me?" 
ventured  Hildey  nervously. 

"What  if  they  did?"  retorted  the  other. 
"There's  nuthin'  ag'in  yer  on  the  police  record, 


330  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

'cept  lyin'  'bout  my  bein'  dead,  an'  that  wouldn't 
count." 

"All  right,  pard,  gimme  yer  coat  an'  hat.  See 
yer  later!"  and  Hildey  was  off. 

Father  and  son  were  now  alone  in  the  cave,  and 
for  some  time  neither  spoke.  Then  the  elder 
grew  reminiscent,  and  began  to  bewail  his  mis- 
fortunes. 

"Sence  I  left  the  ol'  woman  five  years  ago, 
Tom,"  he  said  in  a  tone  intended  to  convey  his 
sense  of  a  profound  grievance,  "I  ain't  had 
nuthin'  but  hard  luck  an'  it's  'bout  time  things 
changed.  I've  got  one  more  trick  I'm  goin'  to 
work  round  here,  an'  if  it  comes  out  right  I'll 
retire." 

"I  hope  yer'll  win,  whatever  it  is,"  replied  the 
son  with  proper  filial  piety. 

"Have  yer  got  any  sand  in  yer  craw?"  asked 
the  father. 

"I've  got  lots;  what  d'yer  want  with  me?"  re- 
plied the  boy. 

"I  want  to  steal  that  Franklin  kid,"  said  Foley 
briefly. 

"Bully!  I'm  with  yer."  Tom  spoke  with  real 
enthusiasm.  "I  know  her  well,  an'  she'd  never 
'spicion  harm  from  me.  She  comes  by  our  house 


54  WHEN   YER    GET    HER    HERE,    I'LL    DO    THE    REST" 


Page  33  r 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  331 

lots  o'  times  an'  talks  to  the  ol'  woman,  an'  laughs 
an'  plays  round  me  jest  as  if  I  wuz  her  brother." 

"Then  it's  dead  easy  fer  yer  to  bring  her  down 
this  way,"  declared  his  father  as  the  details  of 
the  plot  grew  clear  in  his  mind,  "as  soon  as  yer 
kin,  an'  when  yer  get  her  here,  I'll  do  the  rest." 

Foley  looked  at  his  watch  and  said,  "Better  git 
back  home  'fore  daybreak,  an'  I'll  be  expectin' 
yer  with  the  kid  mighty  soon,  but  don't  blab  the 
plan  to  nobody." 


CHAPTER  'XX 

POOR 


Day  was  breaking  as  young  Foley  entered  his 
home.  His  mother  had  just  come  down  stairs, 
and  was  starting  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove.  She 
was  surprised  to  see  her  son,  and  greeted  him 
with: 

"Tom,  where  have  you  been  all  night?" 

"Don't  say  nuthin',  mother,  yer  could  'a' 
knock'd  me  over  with  a  feather  yesterday,  when 
dad  made  such  a  fool  of  hisself.  I  felt  so  bad 
'bout  it,  that  I've  been  walkin'  round,  an'  round, 
an'  round  all  night." 

"It  was  simply  awful,"  said  the  mother,  sighing 
heavily. 

"Orful  ain't  no  name  fer  it,  mum.  To  think 
he'd  come  right  in  there  an'  hurt  yer  feelin's,  to 
say  nuthin'  'bout  poor  Mr.  Jebb.  Ev'rybody's 
talkin'  'bout  his  shameful  conduct." 

"Don't  say  nuthin'  more  'bout  it,  Tom,"  said 
the  grief-stricken  mother. 

"I  can't  git  it  out  er  my  head,  mum,  an'  I'm 
332 


POOR  LILY  333 

almos'  glad  he's  a-layin'  roun'  there  in  the  jug 
fer  hittin'  my  dear  ol'  frien'  Sandy.  I  think  he's 
gittin'  sized  up  right." 

"It'll  be  very  hard,  Tom,  for  any  one  to  be 
sorry  for  him.  If  your  father  had  had  one  spark 
of  pity,  he  wouldn't  have  waited  until  I  got  in 
church  to  let  us  know  he  was  alive.  I  was  so 
ashamed  I  could  'a'  died  right  there,  an'  I'll  never 
be  able  to  hold  up  my  head  again  in  this  world." 
She  brushed  the  fast-coming  tears  from  her  eyes, 
and  went  about  her  household  duties  in  a  most 
listless  manner. 

Breakfast  was  now  ready,  but  only  Tom  had 
any  appetite.  Three  or  four  times  the  mother 
made  efforts  to  eat  something,  but  without  suc- 
cess, and  each  time  the  food  was  left  untasted. 
With  a  heavy  heart  she  arose  from  the  table, 
cleared  away  the  dishes  and  put  the  room  in  order. 

Then,  placing  her  arms  about  Tom's  neck,  she 
said  in  a  voice  choked  with  shame  and  emotion : 

"It's  bad  enough  that  he  deserted  me,  but  I 
could  forgive  that,  because,  maybe,  I'm  not  the 
kind  to  hold  a  man  like  Dennis  to  his  promise. 
But  now  he's  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  and  is  a 
thief  and  a  burglar,  and  has  brought  everlasting 
disgrace  on  you,  Tom,  his  own  kith  and  kin,  flesh 


334  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

of  his  flesh,  and  bone  of  his  bone."  She  was  al- 
most in  hysterics,  as  she  pressed  the  boy  to  her 
heart. 

"I  wouldn't  bother  a  little  bit  if  I  wuz  you," 
was  the  son's  reply,  as  he  squirmed  from  his 
mother's  embrace.  "I'll  bet  dad  isn't  botherin'. 
He  orter  ketch  it,  an'  he's  goin'  to  ketch  it.  Colo- 
nel Franklin  sed  yesterday  he  wuz  down  on  him 
like  a  pile  o'  bricks,  an'  wuz  goin'  to  soak  it  to 
him  good  an'  hard,  'cause  he  believes  he  wuz  in 
with  Hildey  to  fool  yer,  an'  tried  to  hold  up  Mr. 
Jebb  fer  money.  Makes  me  laugh,  though,  how 
he  got  fooled," — and  the  hypocrite  chuckled  al- 
most too  joyously. 

Tom  hung  about  the  kitchen,  waiting  for  the 
news  of  his  father's  escape,  which  he  was  sure 
would  be  brought  as  soon  as  the  authorities  had 
learned  of  it.  He  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  soon 
a  loud  rap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  in  came  Mr. 
Jebb,  much  excited  and  exceedingly  nervous. 

"Have  you  heard  the  latest,  Mrs.  Foley?"  he 
asked,  breathless. 

"Lor'  sakes,  Mr.  Jebb;  what's  up  now?"  ex- 
claimed the  widow,  momentarily  forgetting  her 
troubles. 

"Foley  has  escaped!" 


POOR  LILY  335 

"Escaped?  When?"  she  asked,  now  all  excite- 
ment and  interest. 

"It  must  have  been  after  midnight.  He  has 
been  tracked  to  the  railroad  station,  and  the  police 
sergeant  has  telegraphed  a  full  description  of  him 
to  Philadelphia,  where  it  is  believed  he  has  gone." 

"Why  should  they  think  he's  gone  there?" 

"Because  the  ticket-seller  and  station-master 
both  say  they  talked  with  a  man  whose  appear- 
ance tallies  exactly  with  Foley's,  even  to  the  but- 
ton off  his  coat.  He  bought  a  ticket  to  Philadel- 
phia, and  they  saw  him  get  on  the  train." 

"Good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish,  an'  I  guess 
he'll  never  come  back  no  more;  thank  the  Lord!" 
said  the  widow  fervently. 

"I  can't  agree  with  you,  Mary,"  objected  Jebb. 
"I'm  sorry,  for  more  reasons  than  one,  that  he  got 
away.  I  hoped,  after  the  terrible  experience  in 
church  yesterday,  you  would  feel  that  a  divorce 
would  now  be  proper." 

"Propef  pr  not,  Mr.  Jebb,"  she  replied,  "I'll  not 
have  no  man  a-sayin'  that  I  belonged  to  him, 
while  I  wuz  a-wearin'  another  man's  name." 

"Well,  little  woman,  I  don't  think  you  are 
wise,"  resumed  Jebb,  "but  I  love  you  enough  to 
wait  until  eternity  for  you." 


336  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"Did  yer  say  the  old  man  bought  a  ticket  fer 
Philadelphy  ?"  broke  in  Tom.  "But  s'pose  he  got 
off  at  some  other  station?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jebb,  "but  the  station-master  at 
Baltimore  telegraphs  that  no  one  got  off  there, 
and  as  that  train  does  not  make  another  stop  until 
it  reaches  Philadelphia,  he  must  have  gone 
through." 

"It's  orful,  when  yer've  got  a  daddy  like 
that,"  whimpered  the  young  scalawag,  pretend- 
ing to  wipe  away  the  tears.  "Yer'll  scuse  me, 
won't  yer,  mum,  an'  Mr.  Jebb?  I  never  felt  so 
bad  'bout  anythin'  afore,  an'  I'd  like  to  go  off  by 
myself  an'  have  a  good  cry." 

Melodramatically,  and  sighing  heavily,  Tom 
deliberately  went  up  stairs  to  his  room,  where, 
throwing  his  arms  out  with  wild  exultation,  he  ex- 
claimed, "Oh,  dad,  I'm  proud  of  yer !" 

Then,  clenching  his  fists  and  shaking  them  at 
an  imaginary  foe,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed, 
muttering : 

"Fools,  fools,  dad  is  one  too  many  fer  yer! 
Now,  if  I  kin  work  what  the  ol'  man  wants  me 
to,  we'll  have  a  double-barreled  laugh  on  the  hull 
caboodle." 

The  torpedoes  and  fire-crackers  exploding  out- 


POOR  LILY  337 

side  aroused  and  attracted  him  to  the  window, 
where  he  watched  the  children  of  the  neighbor- 
hood playing  with  their  gifts  and  toys,  for  it  was 
Christmas  morning. 

"Burn  yer !"  he  said,  as  if  addressing  the  merry 
little  ones,  "how  I  hate  yer  all!  Yer  think  ye're 
happy,  but  I'm  happier  than  you  are  'cause  my 
dad  fooled  yer." 

Then  putting  on  his  hat,  he  walked  slowly 
down  the  stairs,  and  wandered  about  the  streets 
until  he  met  a  group  of  boys,  among  whom  were 
Sandy  and  Gilbert.  To  them,  he  put  on  a  long 
face  and  lamented  that  "ev'rybody  is  happy  to- 
day but  me,"  and  continued,  "I  feel  so  bad  I  'most 
wish  I  wuz  dead." 

Gilbert  tried  to  cheer  up  the  miserable  pretender 
and  gave  him  a  liberal  supply  of  candies,  nuts  and 
fire-crackers,  while  Sandy  also  shared  his  gifts 
with  him. 

"If  your  mother  doesn't  mind,"  said  Gilbert, 
"you  might  come  over  to  our  house  and  make 
yourself  at  home  to-day.  We  have  lots  of  every- 
thing, and  will  give  you  a  good  time.  Besides, 
father  has  invited  the  members  of  our  hunting 
and  fishing  club  to  dinner,  and  I'm  sure  he'll  be 
glad  to  have  you  join  us." 


338  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I'll  come,  if  yer  think  I  won't  be  in  the  way, 
an'  won't  spile  yer  fun  ev'ry  time  yer  look  at  my 
glum  face." 

"Come  right  along,"  said  Gilbert,  determined 
to  make  Tom  happy,  if  at  all  within  his  power. 

Promptly  at  one  o'clock  the  Franklin  family, 
with  their  guests,  the  Jedge,  Leander,  Sandy, 
Dink  and  the  morose  young  Foley,  sat  down  to 
eat  their  Christmas  dinner.  The  table's  center- 
piece was  a  miniature  Lillian,  in  candy. 

The  conversation  concerned  itself  almost 
wholly  with  the  exploits  of  the  club's  memorable 
hunting  trip  of  Thanksgiving  week. 

"Ev'ry  time  I  look  at  that  'ere  candy  boat," 
mused  Sandy,  "I  thinks  er  the  river.  I  wonder 
how  the  river  is  to-day.  Golly,  I'd  like  to  see 
her." 

"So  would  I,"  exclaimed  Gilbert  enthusiastic- 
ally. 

"I  tell  you  what  we  will  do,"  suggested  Col- 
onel Franklin.  "After  dinner,  we'll  walk  to  the 
river,  sail  up  in  the  Lillian,  and  then,  if  it's  not 
too  cold  we'll  fish  until  sunset." 

"That's  a  great  idee,"  agreed  the  Jedge,  and 
the  boys  cheerfully  indorsed  the  proposition. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  the  two  men  and  the 


POOR  LILY  339 

boys  started  for  the  boat-house.  They  had  gone 
perhaps  half  a  mile,  when  Tom  Foley  said: 

"Colonel,  I  hope  yer'll  'scuse  me,  but  I  don't 
feel  right  to  go  a-fishin'.  My  daddy's  actions 
has  kind  er  upset  me  so  that  I  jest  wants  to 
blubber  all  the  time.  So,  if  yer  don't  min',  I'll 
go  back  an'  keep  mum  comp'ny." 

"Why,  Tom,"  kindly  spoke  the  Colonel,  "I 
think  it  will  do  you  good  to  go  out  on  the  river 
and  get  your  mind  off  things.  No  one  blames 
you  for  the  conduct  of  your  father,  and  I'm  sure 
you  have  the  sympathy  of  us  all." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  I'm  out  er  gear  to-day,  an'  I 
don't  want  er  spile  yer  party.  So,  good-by," — and 
before  Colonel  Franklin  could  interpose  further 
objections,  the  boy  was  retracing  his  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  Franklin  homestead. 

Arriving  opposite  the  house,  he  took  position 
in  a  near-by  alley,  where  he  could  keep  close 
watch  on  the  front  gate.  At  intervals,  he  walked 
around  the  square,  avoiding,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
all  passers-by,  and  ever  returning  to  his  first  point 
of  observation.  After  hours  of  nervous  waiting 
on  his  part,  little  Lillian  came  out,  and  Snarley's 
heart  gave  a  jump.  She  was  alone,  and  once  on 
the  pavement,  began  to  roll  a  hoop,  which  Sandy 


340  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

had  given  her  that  morning.  Down  the  street  she 
tripped,  all  smiles  and  happiness. 

Tom  watched  her  until  she  had  turned  a  cor- 
ner, then  he  rushed  up  the  alley  to  intercept  her. 
When  he  emerged  into  the  street,  he  saw  her  rest- 
ing on  a  rustic  bench,  and  hastened  to  join  her. 
As  he  came  up,  he  was  greeted  with : 

"Why,  Tom,  I  thought  you  went  fishing  with 
Gil,  and  papa,  and  Sandy,  and  the  rest." 

"No,  Lily.  I  felt  so  bad  'bout  what  happened 
to  my  dad  yest'day  I  couldn't  git  up  no  courage 
to  go,"  answered  the  boy  with  simulated  contri- 
tion. 

"I'm  awful  sorry,  too.  Maybe  your  father  is 
sorry  and  won't  do  it  any  more,"  continued  the 
little  girl  reassuringly,  looking  into  his  face. 

"I  hope  he  is,"  whined  the  young  rascal. 

"In  Sunday-school,  they  say  you  should  always 
forgive.  I  hope  Sandy  will  forgive  your  father 
for  striking  him,  and  if  he  hasn't,  I'm  going  to 
ask  him  to." 

"That's  very  nice  of  yer,  Lily.  What  d'yer  say? 
let's  s'prise  Gil,  and  go  down  to  the  landin'  an' 
meet  him  when  he  comes  in  from  fishin',"  sug- 
gested Foley,  knowing  the  intense  love  she  had 
for  her  brother. 


POOR  LILY  341 

"I'm  afraid  to  go  so  far,"  answered  the  child, 
"although  I'd  like  to  surprise  Gil." 

"Oh,  I'll  go  with  yer,  an'  Gil'll  be  delighted 
to  see  yer.  You  jest  roll  yer  hoop,  an*  I'll  run 
alongside  of  yer  all  the  way,"  said  Snarley  coax- 
ingly. 

"That'll  be  lovely,  won't  it?  And  Gil  will  be 
so  glad  if  I  come." 

"Cert'nly  he  will,  an'  so'll  yer  father,"  assured 
the  boy. 

Lillian  whipped  the  hoop  rapidly,  and  Tom 
kept  pace  with  her.  After  she  had  gone  several 
blocks,  she  was  out  of  breath,  and  said,  "I  guess 
we'd  better  rest  a  little  bit,  Tom." 

"Yes,  let's  rest,"  agreed  Foley.  "Let  me  carry 
yer  hoop,  while  we  walk." 

She  gave  him  the  hoop,  then  confidingly  placing 
her  little  hand  in  his,  she  said  joyously: 

"Gil  will  be  surprised,  sure  enough,  when  he 
sees  me  coming,  won't  he?" 

"Yes,  he'll  be  s'prised,  you  bet!"  said  the  boy, 
taking  a  firmer  hold  of  her  hand,  and  accelerating 
his  steps. 

The  night  was  fast  approaching  and  Snarley 
was  leading  the  child  through  unfrequented  alleys 
and  streets. 


342  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I  don't  remember  seeing  these  streets  when  I 
went  to  the  landing,  the  day  I  christened  the  Lil- 
lian" said  she,  growing  timid. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right;  it's  really  a  shorter  way 
than  t'other,"  reasoned  Foley. 

"But,  Tom,  don't  you  think  Gil  must  be 
through  fishing  by  this  time?" 

"If  he  is,  we'll  meet  him." 

"But  maybe  he  won't  come  back  this  way,  and 
it's  getting  awful  dark." 

"Oh,  he'll  come  back  this  way,  all  right." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  the  child  doubtingly. 

"Dead  sure,"  answered  the  other. 

They  walked  along  in  silence  again  for  five 
minutes. 

"Tom,  maybe  we'd  better  go  back,"  pleaded 
little  Lillian.  "Mama  may  be  worried,  for  we 
didn't  tell  her  we  were  going,  and  don't  you  think 
it  is  too  late  to  go  to  the  river  now?"  Then, 
shuddering,  she  added,  "I'm  afraid,  Tom;  I'm 
awful  afraid." 

"Come  on,"  he  said  gruffly,  grasping  her  hand 
viciously,  as  she  drew  closer  to  him,  and  almost 
pulling  her  off  her  feet. 

"Tom,  don't  hurt  my  Hand,"  she  cried,  attd 
made  a  futile  effort  to  pull  away. 


POOR  LILY  343 

"I  ain't  a-hurtin'  yer.  If  yer  wants  ter  see  yer 
brother,  come  on." 

"But,  Tom,  I  can  see  him  at  home.  Please  let's 
go  back.  I'm  so  tired,  and  we're  walking  so  fast, 
and  my  hand  pains  me  so,  you're  holding  it  so 
tight." 

They  were  now  on  the  shore  of  the  river,  dark 
and  desolate  in  its  winter  dress.  The  restless 
splash  of  the  water  sent  icy  sprays  over  the  child, 
and,  clinging  still  closer  to  her  treacherous  com- 
panion, she  stopped  him  for  a  second  and  begged 
him  to  return. 

"Don't  be  afear'd,  nuthin's  goin'  ter  happen  to 
yer,"  he  said,  jerking  her  savagely,  and  almost 
breaking  into  a  run  at  the  same  time. 

"Oh,  Tom,  please  let's  go  back,"  supplicated 
the  child. 

They  were  now  at  the  old  wharf.  He  gave  a 
low  whistle,  and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
pulled  the  helpless  child  through  the  entrance. 
Then,  groping  his  way  over  the  slimy  stones  and 
through  the  oozing  mud,  he  dragged  the  af- 
frighted little  one  after  him,  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave,  and  called : 

"Dad,  I'm  here." 

"Come  right  in,"  answered  a  voice. 


344  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"I've  got  her,  an'  I  got  her  easy  as  dirt,"  said 
the  son,  pushing  the  terrified  child  into  the  cave, 
and  then  roughly  into  the  arms  of  his  father. 

"Don't  yell,  yer  brat!"  said  the  older,  clasping 
his  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  drawing  her  bru- 
tally toward  him.  "Shut  up,  or  I'll  kill  yer." 

She  stopped  crying,  and  looked  at  him  in 
amazement.  She  was  trying  to  solve  the  mean- 
ing of  it  all. 

Dennis  Foley  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  large 
knife,  and  keeping  the  child  a  prisoner  with  his 
knees,  opened  the  blade  and  held  it  aloft  in  the 
faint  gleam  of  a  sputtering  candle.  Then  he 
hissed  into  her  face : 

"D'yer  know  what  that  is?  Answer  me." 

"It's  a  knife,"  said  the  trembling  child. 

"I'm  glad  yer  know  one  when  yer  see  it," — 
and  he  clutched  her  beautiful  hair.  Pulling  her 
head  backward,  he  raised  the  long  knife  threat- 
eningly. 

"Now  hear  me,"  he  rasped,  "if  yer  cry,  or  even 
speak,  unless  I  sez  yer  kin,  I'll  cut  yer  throat  an' 
throw  yer  inter  the  river  fer  the  snakes  ter  eat. 
D'yer  understan'  ?" 

Frenzied  with  fear,  she  raised  her  arms,  beg- 
ging for  mercy,  and  cried  in  terror: 


POOR  LILY  345 

"Please  don't  kill  me." 

"It  depends  on  yerself.  I  won't  kill  yer,  so 
long  as  yer  obeys  me.  Don't  cry,  an'  don't  talk, 
an'  I'll  spare  yer  life,  but  if  yer  do," — he  glared  at 
the  little  innocent,  "I'll  cut  yer  throat  from  ear  to 
ear,  an'  chuck  yer  inter  the  river;  d'yer  under- 
stan'?" 

She  nodded,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

Foley  now  called  Hildey,  who  was  asleep  in  the 
corner,  and  said,  "Cul,  we've  got  to  git  out  er  this 
place  jest  as  quick  as  possible.  It's  a  durn  good 
place  to  hide  in,  but  it's  no  good  place  f  er  to  nego- 
tiate fer  big  money  fer  the  kid.  It's  too  near  the 
city,  an'  if  we're  tracked  here  we'll  stand  no  more 
chance  than  a  snowball  on  Beelzebub's  gridiron." 

"What's  yer  lay,  Dennis?"  questioned  Hildey. 

"Move  up  the  river,"  was  the  reply.  "I  knows 
jest  the  place  where  we  wouldn't  be  found  in  a 
thousand  years,  an'  where  we  kin  git  in  and  out 
from  ev'ry  p'int  er  the  compass." 

"When  d'yer  want  to  start?"  asked  Tom. 

"Right  away,  afore  the  town  hears  the  brat's 
lost.  Take  what  grub  yer've  got  stored  away  an' 
we'll  make  a  break  right  off." 

In  ten  minutes  the  abductors,  with  the  stolen 


346  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

child,  were  slowly  winding  their  way  along  the 
deserted  beach. 

"As  soon  as  we  comes  across  a  boat  we'll  take 
it  an'  skip  'long  to  the  place  I  want  ter  stop  at," 
broke  in  Foley. 

It  was  now  very  dark.  No  stars  were  shining, 
and  it  had  become  bitterly  cold.  Suddenly  voices 
were  heard,  and  the  abductors  stopped  to  listen. 
They  were  in  a  ravine  near  the  magazine  landing, 
not  more  than  fifty  feet  from  the  spot  where  the 
Lillian  was  launched.  Foley,  Tom  and  Hildey 
crouched  low,  and  drew  the  little  girl  closer. 

The  steady  dip  of  oars  was  heard  up  stream, 
and  the  voices  grew  plainer.  Out  of  the  mingled 
sounds  was  heard,  "I  agrees  with  Sandy,  he's  the 
dirtiest  coward  as  ever  went  unhung." 

Lillian  started,  for  she  recognized  the  voice  of 
the  Jedge,  who  with  Colonel  Franklin,  Sandy, 
Dink,  Leander  and  Gilbert,  were  returning  from 
the  sail  up  the  river. 

Foley  became  frightened,  and  bending  over, 
hissed  into  the  child's  ear: 

"Remember  what  I  tol'  yer:  if  yer  utter  a 
sound,  I'll  kill  yer." 

The  sailing  party  meantime  had  reached  the 
landing  and  stepped  ashore.  Sandy  and  the  other 


POOR  ULY  347 

three  boys  lowered  the  sail,  rolled  and  carried  it 
into  the  boat-house.  The  whole  party  then, 
marching  three  abreast,  with  steady  step,  went  up 
the  graveled  walk  of  the  old  magazine  road,  sing- 
ing in  unison : 

"Hep—  Hep- 
Shoot  that  nigger  if  he  don't  keep  step. 
Hep—  Hep- 
Shoot  that  nigger  if  he  don't  keep  step." 

While  its  cadence  was  continued  by  Colonel 
Franklin  and  the  Jedge,  the  four  boys,  in  march- 
ing rhythm,  sang  out  cheerily  into  the  crisp  cold 
night : 

"When  other  lips  and  other  hearts, 

Their  tales  of  love  shall  tell, 
In  accents  whose  excess  imparts, 

The  power  they  feel  so  well. 
There  may,  perhaps,  in  such  a  scene, 

Some  recollection  be, 
Of  days  that  have  as  happy  been, 

And  you'll  remember  me." 

The  three  scoundrels  listened,  as  the  voices  rose 
and  fell  on  the  air.  The  child,  with  the  fear  of 
death  before  her,  and  in  the  clutches  of  her  horri- 
ble captor,  gave  one  convulsive  sob  and  sank 
swooning  at  his  feet. 

Foley  picked  her  up  and,  walking  quickly, 
placed  her  in  the  very  boat  her  father  and 


348  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

friends  had  left  but  a  moment  before.  He 
wrapped  her  in  a  ragged  coat,  loosened  the  hasp 
of  the  door  on  the  boat-house,  and  took  out  the 
oars. 

Quickly  the  captors  pushed  the  craft  into  deep 
water,  and  with  muffled  stroke  moved  through 
the  inky  waves,  a  somber  specter  sneaking  along 
the  banks  of  the  sleeping  marshes. 

When  they  neared  the  upper  bridge,  Foley 
ran  the  boat  ashore  and  abandoned  it.  Picking 
up  the  exhausted  and  benumbed  child,  he  led  his 
two  companions  along  the  causeway  and  over  the 
road  leading  to  the  bridge. 

"That's  to  take  'em  off  the  scent,  when  they  find 
the  boat's  gone,"  he  said. 

Foley,  Hildey  and  Snarley  walked  down  the 
incline  on  the  other  side,  and  found  a  narrow 
path  through  the  meadow. 

"I  saw  a  lot  o'  skiffs  up  here  a  few  days  ago, 
when  I  wuz  lookin*  roun'  here  to  see  how  the  land 
lays,"  Foley  whispered,  "an*  we  jest  need  one 
now." 

It  was  soon  found,  and  with  Hildey  sitting  on 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  holding  thr  child, 
Foley  and  his  son  using  the  paddles,  they  went  up 
stream,  past  the  Sycamores,  under  the  Banks,  and 


POOR  ULY  349 

fairly  abreast  with  the  giant  sentinels  of  oak  and 
poplar. 

The  wind  came  out  of  the  north,  howling 
through  the  leafless  boughs  of  the  mighty  mon- 
archs  of  the  forest.  The  last  flickering  light  of 
the  town  was  left  far  behind,  and  darkness,  like 
a  great  shroud,  enveloped  river,  valley  and  woods. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE 

In  due  time  Colonel  Franklin  and  his  party 
reached  home,  hungry  after  their  fine  sail  on  the 
river,  and  all  in  high  spirits. 

"Where  are  the  women-folks,  Delia?"  was  the 
Colonel's  first  question. 

"Gran'ma  Franklin,  Mis'  Nanny,  an'  Edith 
done  gone  to  de  church  dis  aft'noon,  to  help  trim 
de  Chris'mas  tree  fo'  to-night,"  replied  the  ser- 
vant, "an'  dey  sed  dey  would  stay  at  de  pahsonage 
fo'  tea.  Lily,  I  'spects,  rolled  her  hoop  up  dar  an' 
is  wif  'em." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  if  they're  all  together," 
said  the  Colonel.  "Jedge,  you  and  the  boys  sit 
right  down,  and  we'll  have  supper  in  a  jiffy." 

The  guests  needed  no  second  invitation,  and 
thoroughly  enjoyed  the  evening  meal.  The  repast 
was  about  concluded  when  Edith,  who  had  just 
returned  from  the  parsonage,  came  in,  and  called 
cheerily : 

"Hurry  up,  Lily,  it's  time  to  go  to  the  festival. 
350 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  351 

They're  going  to  light  up  the  tree  at  half-past 
eight,  and  it's  nearly  that  now." 

"Why,  chil',  Lily  ain't  here.  She's  wif  yo' 
folks,"  exclaimed  Delia. 

"With  us  ?  She  hasn't  been  with  us  at  all,"  re- 
sponded Edith. 

"Ain't  ben  wif  you !  She  went  out  to  roll  her 
hoop  jest  befo'  dark,  an'  sed  she  wuz  gwine  to 
de  church  to  see  yo'  trim  de  tree  an'  Lor'  sakes ! 
she  orter  be  dar." 

"Well,  we  haven't  seen  her,"  spoke  Edith,  with 
positiveness. 

"It's  likely  she's  at  one  of  the  neighbors,"  ven- 
tured the  Colonel.  "At  these  glad  Christmas 
times  it's  only  natural  that  the  child  should  be 
interested  in  the  toys  and  gifts  of  her  playmates, 
and  no  doubt,  Delia,  if  you'll  run  around  to  some 
of  the  houses,  you'll  find  Lily  enjoying  herself." 

"I'll  fin'  her,  Muster  Franklin,  an'  I'se  gwine 
to  scol'  her  good  an'  hard  fo'  worryin'  her  ol' 
mammy."  At  this  she  put  a  shawl  over  her  head 
and  shoulders,  and  started  in  search  of  the  absent 
one. 

"Suppose  I  go,  too,"  suggested  Gilbert,  rising. 

"I  don't  think  that's  necessary,"  interposed  the 
Colonel. 


352  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"It'll  only  take  me  a  minute,"  assured  the  son, 
as  he  began  to  put  on  his  overcoat. 

"Go  if  you  like  then,"  consented  the  Colonel. 

"An'  if  yer  don't  mind,  Miss  Deed,"  volun- 
teered Sandy,  "I'll  go  up  to  church  with  yer,  an' 
then  come  back  an'  fetch  Lily  and  Gil." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  answered  Edith,  "bring 
her  right  over  to  the  church,  and  I'll  be  waiting 
for  you  there." 

"I  guess  I'll  go  up  to  my  house  an'  look. 
Mebbe  Lily  is  playin'  with  Zorah,  an'  if  she  is,  I'll 
come  right  back  an'  tell  yer,"  put  in  Dink. 

Edith,  Delia  and  the  three  boys  departed,  leav- 
ing the  Colonel  and  the  Jedge  alone,  smoking 
their  pipes  and  discussing  the  sensational  events 
of  the  week,  in  which  Dennis  Foley  was  the  cen- 
tral figure.  His  attempted  burglary  in  the  Col- 
onel's own  house  was  reviewed  in  detail,  as  were 
also  his  interruption  of  the  wedding  and  the  das- 
tardly attack  upon  Sandy. 

"I  can't  git  it  through  my  noddle,"  broke  in  the 
Jedge,  as  he  puffed  at  his  pipe,  "how  that  Foley 
had  the  monumental  gall  to  show  hisself  round 
here  after  he  had  tried  to  burglarize  yer  home.  I 
should  think  he'd  a  been  afear'd  he'd  be  pulled." 

"My  theory  is,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that  his 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  353 

lucky  escape  made  him  feel  sure  that  neither 
Sandy  nor  any  one  else  had  seen  his  face,  and, 
therefore,  no  one  would  now  recognize  him." 

"What  wuz  his  lay,  I  wonder,  in  breakin'  up 
the  weddin'  ?"  queried  the  Jedge.  "He  might  'a' 
know'd  that  Mary  Foley  would  never  have  nuthin' 
to  do  with  him  ag'in,  if  there  wuzn't  another  man 
in  the  universe." 

"He  probably  did  know  that,  but  no  doubt  he 
was  aware  that,  as  he  h?d  not  been  away  from  her 
quite  the  full  five  years,  he  was  still  alive  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law,  and  could  claim  his  rights  as  her 
husband.  Perhaps,  too,  he  had  concocted  some 
rogue's  scheme  to  turn  the  situation  to  his  own 
financial  profit." 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  so,"  mused  the  Jedge,  "fer 
I  know  Titcomb  well  'nuff  to  say  that  he  would 
'a'  given  that  feller  his  bottom  dollar,  ruther  than 
have  him  a-hangin'  round  here,  worryin'  the  wid- 
der,  even  if  she  wouldn't  marry  him.  But  his 
dirty  trick  was  knock'd  inter  a  cocked  hat  when 
Sandy  seen  him,  an'  I  guess  that's  the  last  we'll 
hear  o'  Dennis  Foley." 

"It's  hard  on  Jebb,"  sympathized  the  lawyer, 
"but  it  simply  goes  to  show  the  charming  incon- 
sistency of  the  gentler  sex,  for,  after  all,  Mary 


354  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

could  have  invoked  the  law,  and  obtained  her  re- 
lease from  the  rascal,  and  thereby  made  happy 
the  man  she  loves  by  marrying  him." 

"It's  one  thing  more  to  be  sorry  fer,  as  the 
monkey  sed  when  he  kissed  the  baboon's  sister," 
remarked  the  Jedge. 

The  conversation  at  this  point  was  stopped  by 
the  appearance  of  Delia  and  Gilbert,  who  de- 
clared that  not  one  of  the  neighbors  had  seen 
Lillian  that  afternoon. 

"It  seems  almost  incredible  that  she  could  be 
lost,"  said  the  father,  "she  must  be  somewhere 
about  here.  Perhaps  she  went  to  the  church,  and 
fell  asleep  in  one  of  the  pews." 

The  searching  party  set  out  once  more,  this  time 
accompanied  by  the  Colonel  himself,  and  by  the 
Jedge.  At  the  church  they  heard  from  Sandy 
and  Dink  that  no  trace  of  the  child  had  been 
found,  so  the  father  requested  the  minister  to  in- 
quire of  the  congregation  if  the  missing  one  had 
been  seen  anywhere.  There  was  no  response  from 
those  present,  and  the  family  and  friends  began 
to  show  grave  concern. 

Another  effort  at  finding  her  was  immediately 
made.  The  police  sergeant  was  notified,  and  he 
sent  out  a  general  alarm. 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  355 

All  night  long,  and  all  the  next  day  the  hunt 
was  continued.  Wells  were  explored,  basements, 
cellars  and  out-of-the-way  places  were  ransacked, 
lumber  yards  and  coal  yards  were  gone  through1 
most  carefully.  In  fact,  not  a  foot  of  the  town 
was  left  unsearched,  but  all  to  no  avail,  and  the 
once  happy  home  of  the  Franklins  was  steeped  in 
sorrow  and  despair. 

The  morning  after  Lillian's  disappearance,  Mrs. 
Foley  inquired  of  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood 
if  they  had  seen  anything  of  her  son  Tom,  who, 
she  declared,  had  been  gone  since  the  previous 
morning. 

From  Sandy  she  learned  that  Tom  had  taken 
dinner  at  Gilbert's  the  day  before,  but  that  when 
the  party  had  started  for  the  river  he  had  dropped 
out,  claiming  he  was  too  down-hearted  to  join  in 
the  pleasure. 

"That's  the  way  he  acted  at  home,"  said  the 
widow,  "and  it  seemed  to  me  it  was  almost  un- 
nacheral  for  him  to  talk  against  his  father,  as  he 
did.  However,  I'm  not  bothered  about  him,  for 
he  comes  and  goes  just  as  he  pleases,  and  when  he 
gets  good  and  ready  he'll  turn  up,  like  a  bad 
penny.  I've  stopped  worryin'  about  him  years  an' 
years  ago." 


356  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"If  I  see  Tom/'  volunteered  the  boy,  "I'll  tell 
him  yer  want  him," — and  he  hurried  away. 

The  next  morning  Sandy  left  home  earlier  than 
usual,  and  on  his  own  account  began  a  search  for 
Lillian.  A  new  theory  had  taken  possession  of 
him,  and  he  started  at  once  for  the  river.  At  the 
magazine  gate  he  chatted  with  the  sentry  about 
the  mysterious  disappearance,  and  passed  on. 
When  he  reached  the  shore  half  a  mile  beyond, 
he  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  padlock  on  the 
door  of  the  shed  had  been  pried  off,  and  that  his 
boat  was  missing. 

Opening  the  door  he  saw  that  his  oars  and 
blankets  were  gone,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  his 
theory  might  lead  him  to  important  discoveries. 
For  fully  five  minutes  he  stood  motionless,  and 
gazed  into  the  river,  buried  deep  in  his  own 
thoughts.  Then  he  soliloquized:  "I  wonder  if 
Lily's  been  stolen?  S'pose,  while  we've  been 
searchin'  fer  her  high  an'  low,  Snarley  an*  the 
galoot  what  whacked  me  jest  took  the  little  girl 
an'  carried  her  off  in  my  boat?  That  'ere  story 
'bout  Dennis  Foley  buyin'  a  ticket  for  Phila- 
delphy  struck  me  as  fishy  when  I  fust  heerd  it, 
an'  now  I  don't  believe  k  a  t'all.  They  couldn't 
git  through  the  magazine  gate  'thout  the  guards 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  357 

seem'  them,  an*  whoever  took  my  boat  either 
came  up  the  shore  or  down  the  shore.  'Tain't 
likely  they  came  from  up  shore,  'cause  they  could 
V  found  a  hundred  boats  'tween  here  an'  the 
upper  bridge." 

Turning  around,  Sandy  started  down  the  beach 
toward  the  cemetery.  He  was  studying  carefully 
the  ground  beyond  the  point  of  high  tide,  and 
in  a  few  moments  reached  the  ravine  where,  two 
nights  before,  the  three  abductors  had  stopped, 
upon  hearing  Colonel  Franklin  and  his  sailing 
party  approach. 

"Well,  I'll  be  durned,"  he  exclaimed,  for  in  the 
sand  before  his  very  eyes  was  the  impress  of  four 
pairs  of  shoes.  Two  were  evidently  those  of  men, 
one  small  enough  to  be  that  of  a  boy,  and  one  so 
tiny  as  to  convince  him  it  was  that  of  a  child. 

"This  is  the  way  they  come,"  he  continued, 
"and  there  wuz  three  of  'em  in  the  gang  besides 
the  little  one,  an'  I'm  sure  er  that." 

He  followed  the  footprints  until  he  reached  the 
old  wharf.  Peering  through  the  rotten  timbers, 
he  said : 

"That's  a  rum  ol'  hole.  I  don't  believe  Satan 
hisself  would  go  in  there,  but  I'm  goin',  an'  see 
what  I  kin  see." 


358  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Sandy  had  no  difficulty  in  entering  the  cave, 
which  he  found  strewn  with  whisky  bottles,  pieces 
of  bread  and  newly-picked  bones,  evidence  enough 
that  some  one  had  been  there  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore. Penetrating  deeper  in  his  search,  he  made  a 
find  of  the  utmost  importance.  Lying  at  one  side, 
and  near  a  bed  of  rags,  was  an  envelop  addressed 
to  Dennis  Foley,  and,  on  a  peg  which  had  been 
driven  into  the  wall,  was  hanging  an  old  hat, 
which  he  had  often  seen  on  Hildey's  head. 

Elated  at  the  results  of  his  quest,  he  began  to 
retrace  his  steps,  and  in  eager  haste  he  left  the 
cave.  Picking  his  way  along  the  slimy  stones 
under  the  wharf,  he  soon  neared  the  outlet  and 
there  was  startled  by  the  most  significant  of  all 
his  discoveries.  Right  before  him  lay  the  iden- 
tical hoop  which  he  had  given  the  lost  child 
only  Christmas  Day,  and  which  bore  the  in- 
scription, "From  Sandy  Goggles  to  Lillian 
Franklin." 

Every  suspicion  now  was  confirmed,  and  he  was 
sure  he  knew  the  culprits.  Taking  the  hoop,  he 
returned  to  his  boat-house  with  all  possible  speed, 
and  leaping  into  his  skiff,  paddled  up  the  river,  his 
eyes  scanning  the  marsh  lines  on  either  bank  of 
the  channel.  Arriving  at  the  bridge,  he  learned 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  359 

by  inquiry  from  the  tender  stationed  there  that 
he  had  not  seen  the  Lillian  coming  up  stream 
within  the  past  three  days. 

"But,"  explained  the  bridge-tender,  "I'm  only 
on  from  six  to  six  during  daylight,  and  of  course 
if  anything  comes  through  at  night  I  wouldn't 
know  about  it.  I'm  pretty  sure,  though,  there's 
been  nothing  up  this  way  for  a  month  of  Sundays, 
'cept  Buck  Wesley,  who  creeped  up  'bout  two 
hours  ago,  following  a  gang  of  ducks  that  uses 
right  over  there  above  Mayhew's  Meadows.  And 
the  way  Buck's  been  shooting  for  the  last  hour, 
he  must  be  having  a  time  and  no  mistake." 

"Well,  so  long,"  called  Sandy.  "I  guess  I'll 
go  up  the  river  a  little  further  and  have  a  look." 
And  once  more  he  took  up  his  paddles.  As  he 
came  abreast  of  the  Meadows  he  saw  Buck  Wes- 
ley coming  out  of  the  creek  in  his  gunning  skiff. 

"Is  that  you,  Sandy?"  shouted  the  gunner. 

"That's  me,"  was  the  boy's  answer. 

"Come  over  here,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  re- 
quested Buck. 

When  Sandy  got  alongside  the  hunter's  boat, 
he  asked : 

"Well,  Buck,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"No  trouble,  Sandy,  but  when  I  come  up  the 


360  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

river  this  mornin' — I  ain't  been  up  for  three 
weeks,  it's  been  such  pore  weather  for  ducks — I 
seen  a  bunch  of  widgeon  go  down  right  over  here, 
an'  as  I  skims  up  by  the  collard  patch  t'other  side 
of  the  bridge,  I  noticed  a  boat  lyin'  in  the  mud, 
and  when  I  gits  near  to  her,  I  knows  by  the  cut 
of  her  jib  that  she's  yer  Lillian." 

"My  Lillian?  Wher'd  yer  say  yer  seen  her?" 
asked  Sandy  excitedly. 

"Why,  by  the  collard  patch,  not  fifty  yards  from 
the  Causeway.  She  looked  like  she'd  drifted  on 
the  marsh.  I  calc'lated  when  I  got  through  shoot- 
in'  that  I'd  pick  her  up  an'  take  her  down  to  yer 
landin'.  The  oars  wuz  in,  an'  I  guess  she  must 
'a'  strayed  from  the  shore,  through  somebody  fer- 
gittin'  to  tie  her  up." 

"I'm  much  'bliged,  Buck,"  thanked  Sandy,  "but 
yer  needn't  bother.  I'll  bring  her  down,  an'  the 
next  galoot  that  takes  her  an*  lets  her  git  away 
from  him,  is  goin*  to  hear  from  me." 

Sandy  retraced  the  course  he  had  come,  and 
after  turning  on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  had 
no  trouble  in  finding  his  boat.  She  was  lying 
on  a  sand-bar,  but  he  soon  succeeded  in  floating 
her  and  bringing  her  ashore. 

Safely  securing  the  skiff  and  the  boat,  he  began 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  361 

another  search  along  the  beach,  and  almost  im- 
mediately was  rewarded  by  finding  a  knot  of  blue 
ribbon,  such  as  he  had  often  seen  Lillian  wear  in 
her  hair.  Farther  along,  he  discovered  tracks  in 
the  sand.  These  he  followed,  Indian  fashion,  up 
the  embankment,  lost  trace  of  them  for  a  moment 
on  the  hardened  surface  of  the  carriage  way,  but 
speedily  picked  them  up  again  in  the  soft  soil  that 
ran  downward  on  the  other  side. 

Then,  it  was  easy  to  pursue  them  along  a  path- 
way that  led  to  a  graveled  beach  where  a  dozen  or 
more  skiffs  had  been  drawn  up  and  tied  to  stakes 
for  the  winter.  From  here  on,  all  further  traces 
were  obliterated. 

Thoroughly  familiar  with  all  the  river  craft  be- 
longing there,  even  to  the  individual  ownership, 
Sandy  noticed  at  once  that  one  of  the  boats  was 
missing,  and  that  its  painter  had  only  recently 
been  cut. 

"Why,  it's  Willie  Bagner's  boat  they've  got," 
he  said  to  himself  as  he  recognized  which  boat 
was  missing,  "an'  I'll  bet  my  life  the  scalawags 
are  hidin'  somewhere  up  the  river." 

Hurrying  back,  he  rowed  to  the  landing  and 
started  in  haste  for  his  home,  with  a  plan  of  rescue 
fully  developed  in  his  mind.  He  sought  out  Le- 


362  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

ander,  Dink  and  Gilbert,  and  asked  them  to  call  at 
his  house  without  delay. 

While  Sandy's  investigation  had  convinced  him 
that  Lillian  was  stolen,  Colonel  Franklin  had  been 
made  to  realize  the  same  terrible  fact  in  another 
and  more  brutal  way.  When  he  reached  his  office 
on  the  same  afternoon,  he  found  on  his  desk  a  let- 
ter that  read  as  follows : 

dere  sur — if  U  meen  bizness  i  can  put  U  on  to 
whar  your  dorter  is  but  its  goin  to  kost  U  sum 
muney  if  U  evr  want  to  see  her  agin  theres  a  big 
gang  got  her  hid  where  U  woodnt  find  hur  in  a 
100  yerze  but  if  U  will  plank  down  10000  dolers 
sheze  yourze  if  U  dont  youll  nevr  see  hur  no  moar 
if  sheze  wurth  thet  much  to  U  U  can  git  her  by 
not  blabin  to  nobudy  that  yer  got  this  leter  an 
plankin  down  the  rino  taint  no  use  fer  U  to  try 
an  git  the  police  on  our  trax  fer  one  uv  the  gang 
is  alwayz  with  the  kid  an  we  have  sworn  to  kill 
her  if  enny  of  us  is  jugged  if  U  meen  bizness  an 
will  leeve  a  noat  under  the  big  stone  in  front  of 
the  ded  tree  by  oyster  shell  landin  up  the  river  we 
will  git  it  an  rite  U  where  to  meet  us  to  bring  the 
muney  and  git  the  child  member  we  dont  stand 
fer  no  trechery  an  if  U  squeel  we  11  no  it  and  we  11 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  363 

take  it  out  on  the  kid  mums  the  word  if  yer  want 
ter  see  the  kid  agin  c  o  d  an  fare  deelin  is  our 
moto  a  word  to  the  wize  is  sufishent 

yourze  trooley  a  frend 

The  Colonel  was  completely  unnerved  by  the 
horrible  knowledge  that  his  little  daughter  was 
in  the  hands  of  desperate  criminals.  Without 
delay  he  wrote  a  note  offering  to  pay  the  money 
demanded,  agreeing  to  deliver  it  at  any  spot  they 
might  name,  and  vowing  to  share  his  secret  with 
no  one. 

Sealing  the  missive,  he  placed  it  carefully  in  his 
pocket,  and  drove  out  along  the  river  turnpike  to 
a  point  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  place 
designated  by  the  annoymous  writer.  Tying  his 
horse  to  a  tree,  he  walked  through  the  woods,  and 
hid  the  note  under  the  stone  mentioned  in  the  let- 
ter. It  was  after  nightfall  when  he  reached  home, 
where  he  was  met  with  the  heartrending  and 
oft-repeated  question, 

"Have  you  heard  anything  from  Lily?" 

Fearing  to  betray  himself,  even  to  his  family, 
and  thus  perhaps  endanger  the  life  of  his  child,  he 
was  compelled  to  answer,  "No,  not  a  thing." 
With  a  heavy  heart,  he  passed  into  his  study. 


364  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

Supper  was  announced  shortly  afterward,  and 
as  the  family  gathered  about  the  table,  the  father 
noticed  that  his  son  was  not  present. 

"Where  is  Gilbert?"  he  inquired  nervously. 

"Sandy  was  here  and  asked  Gilbert  to  come 
over  and  spend  the  night  with  him,"  answered 
Mrs.  Franklin.  "I  hadn't  the  heart  to  refuse  him, 
for  I  don't  believe  any  one  has  worked  harder  to 
find  our  lost  darling  than  Sandy,  and  he  seems  to 
be  the  only  one  that  can  give  Gilbert  any  conso- 
lation." 

"I  think  it's  better  that  the  boys  stop  search- 
ing," said  the  father.  "They  might  get  them- 
selves into  trouble;  it's  too  dangerous.'* 

"I  don't  believe  you  could  stop  those  boys  from 
hunting  for  Lillian,  if  they  had  to  go  into  the  very 
jaws  of  death,"  interposed  the  grandmother. 

"Oh,  well,"  spoke  the  father;  "they  must  not 
wear  themselves  out,  and  to-morrow,  I  will  tell 
Gilbert  and  Sandy  to  leave  the  investigation  to  the 
police." 

"They'll  never  do  it,"  objected  the  grand- 
mother, "they  love  Lillian  too  much.  You  mark 
my  words." 

At  this  very  moment,  Sandy,  Leander,  Gilbert 
and  Dink  were  together,  in  Sandy's  little  garret 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  365 

room.  Sandy  closed  the  door  carefully,  locked  it, 
and  called  his  companions  about  him  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

"Boys,"  he  whispered,  "afore  I  sez  anythin',  I 
wants  yer  to  gimme  yer  word,  honor  bright,  an' 
cross  yer  heart  three  times,  that  yer  won't  spout 
a  syllable  of  what  I  tells  yer  to  a  soul." 

All  were  agreed,  and  the  boy  began : 

"Now,  it's  this  'ere  way.  My  boat  wuz  stolen 
an'  left,  right  below  the  upper  bridge,  an'  I  foun' 
footprints  an'  this  'ere  piece  of  ribbon,  which  Gil 
knows  b' longed  to  his  sister,  fer  she  wore  it  round 
her  hair.  Willie  Bagner's  skiff's  bin  stolen,  an' 
I  believe  the  party  that  took  it  hez  got  little  Lily, 
because  I  foun'  the  hoop  I  give  her,  an'  this  en- 
vellup  in  the  same  place,  an'  it  seems  to  me  the 
galoot  whose  name's  on  it  is  hid  somewhere  up 
the  river,  an'  I'm  goin'  after  him  if  I  has  to  go 
alone." 

"But  you  won't  go  alone,  while  I'm  alive,"  in- 
sisted Leander,  intensely  excited. 

"An'  I'm  goin',  too,  even  if  I  never  come  back," 
added  Dink,  taking  it  for  granted  that  he  was 
needed. 

"And  you  must  take  me,"  said  Gilbert  implor- 
ingly. 


366  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

The  four  boys  grasped  one  another's  hands, 
and  Sandy  declared  in  a  solemn  tone: 

"We'll  stick  together  to  the  bitter  end." 

"What's  your  plan  ?"  asked  Leander,  with  great 
interest. 

"Without  breathin'  a  word  to  a  soul,  to-night 
about  nine  o'clock  we  wants  to  leave  the  boat- 
house,  you  an'  Dink  in  one  skiff,  an'  me  an'  Gil 
in  t'other,  an'  sneak  up  the  river,  an'  try  so  no- 
body won't  see  us.  When  we  gits  to  the  upper 
bridge,  paddle  in  as  close  to  the  Causeway  on  the 
right,  as  we  kin,  huggin'  the  marsh  all  the  way. 
Jest  before  we  git  to  Beaver  Dam,  there's  a  deep 
gut  that  runs  'longside  of  it  fer  a  hundred  yards, 
or  more.  Foller  me  in  there,  Leander,  an'  stay 
hid  till  I  sez  move.  Don't  speak  a  word,  from  the 
time  we  push  off  till  I  sez  so.  Beaver  Dam  is  the 
lonesomest  creek  in  the  world,  an'  mebbe  Gil's 
little  sister  is  kept  in  one  of  them  ol'  shacks  what 
muskrat  hunters  live  in,  in  the  spring  an'  summer. 
If  them  galoots  is  in  there,  they're  mighty  apt  ter 
come  out  late  at  night,  when  they  don't  expec' 
nobody's  roun'.  Of  course,  nacherelly  they  have 
some  plan  about  gettin'  paid  fer  little  Lily,  an* 
they  ain't  a-goin'  to  stay  in  hidin'  without  tryin' 
to  find  out  the  lay  er  the  land,  an'  jest  how  hot 


SANDY  TO  THE  RESCUE  367 

the  police  is  on  their  trail.  My  idee  is  to  go  an' 
lay  in  ambush  fer  'em  all  night.  If  they  don't 
come  out,  we'll  explore  in  the  mornin',  an'  if  we 
don't  find  'em  hidin'  roun'  Beaver  Dam,  then 
we'll  lay  low  all  day,  an'  push  up  the  river  to- 
morrer  night.  But  somehow,  I  think  that's  the 
place  they  would  pick  ou,.  to  hide  in.  'Tain't 
one  person  out  er  a  million  that  would  know  how 
to  git  through  Beaver  Dam  without  gittin'  lost, 
an'  I'm  a  recollectin'  I  took  Tom  Foley  through 
there  onct  an'  that's  why  I'm  goin'  there  to-night. 
I  knows  it  so  well,  I  ccruld  go  through  with  my 
eyes  she*. 

"Each  of  us  wants  his  pistol  loaded  fer  keeps, 
a  knife,  an'  about  three  yards  er  rope  he  can  tie 
round  his  waist.  Let's  have  a  bite  o'  supper  right 
here  in  my  house,  an'  then  we'll  start  fer  the  river, 
but  each  feller  goin'  alone,  an'  in  a  different  way. 
Now,  remember,  no  talkin'  to  nobody,  an'  let's  all 
say  honor  bright,  an'  cross  our  hearts  three  times 
ag'in." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ON    THE   RIVER 

Sandy  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  boat-house. 
Securing  the  paddles,  he  put  them  into  the  skiffs 
and  watched  for  his  companions.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  Gilbert  came  in  a  few  moments, 
then  Leander,  and  shortly  afterward,  Dink.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken.  Sandy  motioned  Gilbert  to 
sit  in  the  center  seat  of  the  Dolly,  while  he  took 
his  accustomed  place  at  the  stern.  Noiselessly 
they  pushed  into  the  stream,  followed  by  Leander 
and  Dink. 

The  tide  was  going  out,  and  had,  perhaps,  two 
hours  to  ebb.  The  boys  hugged  the  channel  bank 
on  the  right,  passed  under  the  bridge  unnoticed, 
and  kept  on  their  silent  and  anxious  way,  mile 
after  mile.  Finally,  Sandy  steered  into  a  creek 
and  glided  softly  against  the  mud  bank,  holding 
his  skiff  firmly  by  driving  a  paddle  into  the  soft 
soil.  Leander  and  Dink  followed  suit.  That  they 
might  be  screened  from  any  one  coming  out  of 
Beaver  Dam,  which  was  separated  by  a  narrow 
368 


ON  THE  RIVER  369 

strip  of  marsh-land,  they  lay  flat  on  the  bottom 
of  their  boats. 

The  night  was  not  especially  dark,  for  the  moon 
was  looking  through  a  mist  of  hazy  clouds.  It 
was  bitingly  cold,  and  though  the  boys  became 
numb  from  the  many  minutes  of  inactivity,  not 
one  of  them  moved.  For  fully  an  hour  they  had 
remained  motionless,  when  faintly  over  the  water 
was  heard  the  splash,  splash,  splash,  of  paddles, 
far  away. 

The  searching  party  were  all  alert  in  an  instant, 
and  with  raised  heads,  peered  cautiously  over  the 
top  of  the  marsh  line  in  the  direction  of  the 
sounds.  Hardly  a  minute  had  passed,  when  out 
of  the  shadows  that  hid  the  entrance  to  Beaver 
Dam,  there  came  slowly  a  skiff  into  the  clear 
water.  It  approached  to  within  fifteen  feet  of  the 
hidden  boys,  when  they  recognized  a  voice,  dis- 
tinctly saying: 

"I  hope  that  guy  Franklin's  ben  up  to  the  land- 
in'  an'  left  the  note  where  I  tol'  him  to,  an'  don't 
try  no  shenanigan." 

"He  ain't  goin'  to  try  no  flapdoodles  with  us," 
was  the  quick  answer. 

"Well,  if  he  knows  when  he's  well  off,"  the 
first  voice  resumed,  "he'll  come  round  with  the 


370  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

rhino  mighty  quick,  an'  give  us  no  more 
trouble." 

"I  kin  see  us  livin'  like  gent'men,  a' ready." 

"Gent'men  born  an' — "  the  other  began,  but 
the  last  of  his  sentence  was  lost  as  the  boat  turned 
up  the  river,  and  the  cadence  of  the  paddles  died 
in  the  distance. 

Sandy  waited  until  the  rascals  had  disappeared 
around  the  bend,  then  shoving  his  skiff  quickly 
alongside  Leander's,  he  whispered  into  the  lat- 
ter's  ear : 

"Me  an'  Gil  is  goin'  in  to  Beaver  Dam.  Yer 
knows  them  two  fellers,  an'  so  do  I.  One  of  'em 
is  the  feller  what  whacked  me,  an'  the  t'other  is 
that  bum  Hildey.  If  they  gits  here  afore  I  come 
back,  you  an'  Dink'll  have  to  do  somethin'  des- 
p'ret." 

"All  right,"  said  Leander,  clutching  his  pistol, 
"you  can  trust  me." 

Sandy  rounded  the  point  that  divided  the  two 
creeks,  and  in  a  short  time  had  paddled  past  the 
trees  and  vines  that  hung  over  and  partly  covered 
the  entrance  to  Beaver  Dam.  The  boat  was  man- 
aged with  consummate  skill,  now  left,  now  right, 
through  the  sinuous  waterway,  and  the  two  boys 
had  gone  fully  half  a  mile,  when,  without  warn- 


ON  THE  RIVER  371 

ing,  they  were  rudely  jolted  as  the  skiff  grated 
harshly  on  a  bar.  Ordinarily,  such  an  incident 
would  have  been  without  effect  upon  them,  but 
now  their  nerves  were  so  highly  strung,  that  the 
noise  of  the  boat  rubbing  against  the  gravel 
seemed  as  loud  as  the  report  cf  a  cannon. 

Using  all  possible  force,  Sandy  and  Gilbert  suc- 
ceeded in  shoving  their  craft  back  into  the  water. 
Then  they  pressed  forward  into  the  shadow  of 
an  embankment  on  the  left,  and  not  a  moment 
too  soon  did  they  reach  cover,  for  the  door  of  a 
hut  was  thrown  open,  and  the  voice  of  Tom  Foley 
was  heard,  asking: 

"Is  that  you,  dad?" 

An  instant  later  Snarley  was  seen  standing  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  doorway,  shading  his  eyes 
and  peering  into  the  darkness. 

"I  say,  dad,  is  that  you?"  came  again.  "I'll  be 
doggoned  if  I  didn't  think  I  heerd  somebody 
comin'.  I  guess  'tain't  nuthin','' — looking  anx- 
iously to  the  right  and  left.  "I  cert'nly  does  git 
scared  out  er  my  boots  aroun'  here,  though,  when 
I'm  left  alone.  I'm  goin'  to  wake  up  the  brat  an* 
make  her  keep  me  comp'ny," — and  the  door  closed 
with  a  bang. 

He  had  hardly  gone  inside  when  the  piteous 


372  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

cry  of  a  child  was  heard,  "Please  don't  beat  me, 
Tom." 

"I  ain't  beatin'  yer;  go  ahead,  dance  fer  me." 

Sandy  and  Gilbert  were  fairly  crazed,  and  in 
their  anger  rushed  up  toward  the  hut. 

Again  came  the  cry,  "Please  don't  hit  me, 
Tom." 

"Dance,  I  say," — and  the  sharp  swish  of  a 
whip  was  heard. 

It  took  but  a  second  for  Sandy  to  bound  into 
the  room.  Surprised  and  terrified,  Foley  made  a 
dart  for  the  door,  but  was  met  by  Gilbert,  who, 
pistol  in  hand,  held  him  stock  still.  In  despera- 
tion Snarley  reached  for  a  club  and  ran  back  of 
the  frightened  child  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
serve  as  guard  against  his  assailant.  Like  a  flash, 
Sandy  followed,  and  knocked  the  cowardly  brute 
senseless  with  the  barrel  of  his  pistol. 

Gilbert  ran  to  his  sister,  and,  taking  her  up, 
showered  loving  kisses  upon  her.  With  her  arms 
clasped  about  his  neck  and  her  head  nestling  on 
his  shoulder,  she  cried : 

"Oh,  Gil,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  I've  been 
waiting  all  this  time  for  you.  I  knew  Sandy 
would  come,  because  he  ain't  afraid  of  robbers,  or 
anybody  else,  even  if  he  had  his  hands  tied  be- 


ON  THE  RIVER  373 

hind  him.  I've  been  praying  for  you  every  min- 
ute, and  here  you  are."  Again  Gilbert  pressed  his 
sister  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  her. 

Young  Foley  was  still  lying  unconscious,  as 
the  result  of  the  blow  he  had  received,  and  Sandy 
was  clutching  him  tightly  by  the  throat. 

"Take  yer  sister,  little  codger,"  said  Sandy, 
"wrap  her  up,  git  in  the  skiff,  an'  I'll  be  with  yer 
as  soon  as  I  tie  this  chuckle-headed  idiot  fast  and 
tight." 

Gilbert  left  the  Hut  with*  Lillian,  while  the 
other  boy  remained  behind  long  enough  to 
loosen  the  rope  around  his  waist,  and  bind  the 
young  ruffian  securely.  Then  he  placed  him  in  a 
corner  of  the  room.  Locking  the  door  behind 
him,  Sandy  joined  Gilbert  in  the  skiff,  and  to- 
gether they  paddled  furiously  out  of  the  creek 
into  the  river. 

The  moon  was  up  in  all  her  splendor,  and  ob- 
jects on  the  water  were  plainly  visible  for  some 
distance.  Lillian  was  seated  in  the  bow,  facing 
the  two  boys  at  the  paddles.  Leander  and  Dink 
fell  in  the  wake  of  Sandy's  skiff,  about  ten  yards 
in  the  rear. 

As  the  party  reached  the  middle  of  the  channel, 
a  skiff  came  into  view  from  the  bend,  a  short  way 


374  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

above,  and  steered  directly  toward  them.  With  a 
cry,  Lillian  stood  up: 

"Oh,  Gil,  here  come  those  two  bad  men  that 
took  me  away." 

The  boys  turned,  and  they,  too,  recognized 
Dennis  Foley  and  Hildey  as  the  occupants  of  the 
approaching  boat. 

"Lie  flat,  little  one,"  whispered  Sandy,  "an* 
don't  move  till  I  tells  yer." 

The  child  obeyed,  but  already  Foley  and  his 
partner  had  espied  her,  and  it  was  evident  they 
were  using  all  their  efforts  to  catch  up.  Leander 
now  called : 

"It's  the  same  gang,  Sandy,  that  came  out  of 
the  creek.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"Paddle  fer  all  ye're  worth,"  was  shouted  back. 

"Hold  up,  or  we'll  shoot,"  yelled  Dennis  Foley. 

With  that  a  pistol-shot  was  heard  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  pursuers,  but  the  bullet  went 
wide  of  its  mark,  and  the  boys  sped  on. 

"Dpn't  waste  yer  load  unless  yer  have  to,"  cau- 
tioned Sandy,  "  'cause  yer  won't  have  time  to  put 
in  'nother,  an'  I  don't  want  er  draw  their  fire,  fer 
fear  they  might  hit  Lily." 

The  race  had  become  one  of  life  and  death. 
The  boys  strained  to  the  utmost  their  strong 


ON  THE  RIVER  375 

young  muscles,  and,  with  paddles  bent  almost 
double,  drove  their  little  craft  like  the  wind  be- 
fore them.  Down  past  Turtle  Creek  they  flew; 
Licking  Banks  were  soon  left  behind,  and  shortly, 
they  were  alongside  the  Sycamores.  Dink  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder,  and  whispered: 

"We  ain't  gained  on  'em  a  bit,  an'  they  seem 
to  be  goin'  strong." 

When  the  Meadows  were  reached,  Dink  said 
again : 

"They're  comin'  like  everythin'." 

"Don't  weaken,"  urged  Leander;  "as  long  as 
we're  between  them  and  Sandy's  skiff,  they'll 
have  to  kill  us  before  they  can  get  to  Lillian." 

The  moon  was  casting  its  light  on  the  waters 
like  a  great  silvery  path,  and  the  splashing  of  the 
paddles  was  the  only  sound  that  awakened  the 
echoes.  Again  came  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol, 
and  Dink  dodged,  as  if  by  instinct.  He  wheeled 
in  his  seat  and  shot  point-blank  at  Foley,  but  the 
ball  imbedded  itself  in  the  side  of  the  skiff  be- 
hind and  did  no  further  damage. 

"That's  tit  for  tat,"  said  Dink,  "but  it  wuz  a 
mighty  close  call  fer  me.  When  the  bullet 
whizzed  past  my  ear  I  thought  I  was  plugged, 
sure." 


376  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

There  were  now  not  more  than  fifteen  yards 
between  the  boys  and  their  pursuers.  Turning 
about,  Leander  saw  Hildey  raise  his  pistol  and 
take  careful  aim  at  him.  Quick  as  thought,  the 
boy  fired  first,  and  Hildey  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of 
pain,  as  his  right  arm  fell  helpless,  and  his  pistol 
dropped  into  the  water. 

"Curse  the  luck!"  muttered  Foley.  "Don't 
give  up,  pard;  we'll  ketch  'em  afore  they  git 
much  further." 

Though  Hildey's  right  arm  was  useless,  he 
plied  the  paddle  with  his  left,  and  the  men  con- 
tinued to  gain.  As  the  boys  passed  through  un- 
der the  bridge,  Leander's  boat  was  abreast  of 
Sandy,  who  whispered: 

"I'll  take  the  swash  on  the  right  that  goes 
through  the  big  marsh  and  comes  out  at  the 
Devil's  Elbow.  You  hug  the  channel  bank,  an' 
mebbe  we'll  fool  'em." 

Sandy  knew  that,  after  the  river  left  the  bridge, 
it  went  almost  southerly  for  half  a  mile,  then 
made  an  abrupt  turn  at  right  angles,  pursued  its 
way  westward  for  another  quarter  of  a  mile,  and 
then  met  the  swash  channel,  which  cut  diagonally 
through  the  big  marsh.  At  this  junction  of  the 
two  streams  a  whirlpool  called  the  Devil's  Elbow 


ON  THE  RIVER  377 

had  been  formed,  a  treacherous  spot  for  small 
craft,  and  requiring  rare  skill  to  pass  in  safety. 

When  Sandy  told  Leander  to  take  the  main 
channel,  it  was  with  a  desperate  hope  that  Foley 
and  Hildey  would  be  in  douot,  for  the  moment, 
which  skiff  to  follow  as  they  came  out  under  the 
bridge.  Within  himself,  he  reasoned  that  this 
hesitation,  on  their  part,  would  consume  suffi- 
cient time  to  permit  the  boys  to  gain  a  lead  and 
reach  in  safety  the  landing,  two  miles  below. 

"The  chances  are  jest  even-Stephen,"  he  said  to 
Gilbert,  "though  it  separates  us  from  Leander, 
till  we  reach  the  Devil's  Elbow." 

But  alas !  Sandy's  reasoning  failed  him  for  once 
this  time. 

As  Foley  and  Hildey  came  through  under  the 
bridge,  the  former  cried : 

"Steer  to  the  right  channel  an'  f oiler  that  boat; 
that's  the  one  the  kid's  in." 

"They're  after  us,  darn  'em,"  said  Sandy,  "but 
we're  gittin'  ahead  bully.  Keep  it  up,  Gil,  an' 
we'll  come  out  all  right,  see  if  we  don't." 

Dripping  with  perspiration,  and  with  hands 
burned  and  blistered,  Sandy  and  Gilbert  were 
forging  ahead  and  gaining  on  their  pursuers, 
straining  every  nerve  to  increase  their  lead.  As 


378  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

they  rounded  a  bend  in  the  channel,  Hildey 
shouted : 

"There's  yer  chance  to  plug  'em,  pard.  Shoot !" 

Foley  obeyed,  and  the  boys'  skiff,  which  was  a 
metallic  one,  was  bored  through  by  the  pistol  ball. 
The  water  poured  through  the  hole,  and  Sandy 
shouted  to  Gilbert : 

"Drop  yer  paddle;  take  yer  hat  an'  put  it  over 
the  leak,  tight  as  yer  kin ;  bale  out  with  the  other 
hand,  or  we'll  sink  in  a  minit.  Lily,  sit  up,  so 
yer  won't  get  wet;  but  don't  show  yer  head," 
and  with  a  courage  born  of  despair,  Sandy  re- 
newed his  efforts. 

Foley  was  gaining  rapidly,  and  it  seemed  that 
only  a  miracle  could  prevent  the  boys'  capture  be- 
fore they  reached  the  Devil's  Elbow. 

Three  minutes  passed  with  only  the  sound  of 
the  lightning-like  dip  of  the  paddles.  Another 
short  bend  in  the  channel,  and  a  hundred  yards 
ahead  was  the  confluence  of  the  two  currents, 
which  were  ever  at  war. 

"Keep  on  bailing,  Gil,"  cried  Sandy,  "an'  when 
we  git  past  the  Elbow,  if  they're  too  close  to  us, 
I'm  goin'  to  use  my  pistol  on  'em,  but  I  don't 
want  ter  shoot  till  I  can  make  the  shot  tell  fer  all 
it's  worth.  Steady,  Lilyj  hold  tight,  Gil;  don't 


ON  THE  RIVER  379 

move,  I'll  git  yer  through  without  swampin', 
'cause  I  knows  every  current  in  the  Elbow." 

Through  the  mad  swirl  of  waters  the  boy  held 
his  boat,  and  steered  her  into  the  quiet  tide  be- 
yond. 

Leander  and  Dink  were  just  turning  the  bend 
of  the  main  channel  an  eighth  of  a  mile  away, 
and  the  skiff  containing  Foley  and  Hildey  had 
reached  the  outer  current  of  the  eddy. 

"Now  you've  got  'em,"  yelled  Hildey,  as 
Sandy's  skiff  veered  to  the  left,  not  twenty  yards 
from  the  other. 

"Not  if  I  knows  it,"  cried  Sandy  as  he  shot 
square  at  Foley,  the  ball  going  through  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  but  leaving  him  unharmed. 

"Curse  yer  fer  a  fool !"  came  from  Foley,  drop- 
ping his  paddle  and  standing  up  in  the  skiff,  which 
now  had  nothing  to  guide  it  but  Hildey's  ex- 
hausted arm.  The  skiff  was  rocking  violently. 
Foley  attempted  to  balance  himself  as  he  raised 
his  pistol  to  shoot.  In  a  flash  the  frail  craft  was 
caught  in  the  conflicting  currents,  it  careened  and 
capsized,  and  the  two  men  were  battling  for  life 
in  the  whirlpool. 

Sandy  was  so  intent  on  escape  that  he  had  gone 
some  distance  down  stream  before  realizing  he 


3So  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

was  no  longer  pursued.  Suddenly  an  agonizing 
cry  was  borne  on  the  midnight  air: 

"Help!   Help!   I'm  drownin'!" 

The  boy  rested  on  his  paddle,  and  scanned  the 
river  in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 

"Don't  let's  let  'em  drown  like  rats  in  a  hole," 
said  Sandy,  and  he  started  his  boat  back  toward 
the  bend. 

"Gil,  gimme  yer  pistol.  They  may  be  tryin'  to 
play  some  trick  on  us,  an'  if  they  are,  we'll  be 
ready  for  'em." 

The  precaution  was  unnecessary,  for  when  they 
came  near,  they  saw  the  upturned  skiff  circling 
around  in  the  eddy,  its  paddles  bobbing  with  the 
waves,  and  the  hats  of  Foley  and  Hildey  slowly 
drifting  toward  the  bank. 

Leander  and  Dink,  meanwhile,  had  come  up, 
and  with  the  other  two  boys  remained  for  fully 
half  an  hour  waiting  for  some  sign  of  the  two 
robbers,  but  in  vain;  for  far  beneath  the  surface 
of  the  water  in  the  maddening  current,  the  ill- 
spent  lives  of  Foley  and  Hildey  were  ended. 
They  were  dead  in  the  cruel  embrace  of  the 
Devil's  Elbow. 


GOOD-BY 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  that  there  was  a 
sensation  when  Pipetown  awoke  the  next  morn- 
ing and  learned  that  Lillian  had  been  rescued,  and 
was  safe  in  her  father's  house. 

Over  and  over,  the  four  boys  were  compelled  by 
admiring  listeners  to  relate  their  adventures,  and 
the  minutest  detail  was  seized  upon  with  avidity. 

Sandy,  of  course,  was  the  center  of  interest,  be- 
cause it  was  he  who  had  conceived  the  daring  ex- 
pedition. When  asked  at  Jebb's  store,  the  night 
after  the  rescue,  how  he  came  to  hit  upon  the 
river  as  offering  a  possible  solution  of  the  mys- 
terious disappearance,  he  replied: 

"It's  this  'ere  way.  I  wouldn't  'a'  thought  so 
much  'bout  it,  if  Dennis  Foley  hadn't  sawed  his 
way  out  er  jail,  an'  Snarley  hadn't  turned  up  miss- 
in',  jest  'bout  the  time  Gil's  little  sister  couldn't 
be  found.  I  jest  put  two  an'  twice  tergether,  an' 
after  a  while  I  makes  up  my  mind  she  wuz  up 
there,  an'  up  there  she  wuz." 
38' 


382  PIPETOWN  SANDY 

"That  'ere  act  o'  Sandy's,"  remarked  the  Jedge, 
"in  goin'  right  to  the  bull's-eye  of  a  thing  without 
knowin'  where  it  is,  is  what  scientific  men  calls 
'sagacipusness  an'  particular  conclusion,'  which 
words  is  too  whoopin'  big  fer  plain  folks,  so  we 
calls  it  common-sense,  which  reminds  me  that, 
when  it  comes  to  lookin'  through  a  grindstone 
as  fur  as  the  next  feller,  combined  with  grit,  men- 
tality an'  hang-on,  them  four  boys  rolled  together 
seem  more  like  me  when  I  wuz  their  age,  than 
anybody  I  ever  seen."  The  Jedge  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  smoked  away  in  silence. 

When  the  June  roses  bloomed  again,  Mr.  Jebb 
and  Widow  Foley  were  quietly  married,  for,  in 
the  words  of  the  Jedge,  the  widow  was  a  widow 
and  no  mistake  this  time. 

Colonel  Franklin  persuaded  Mrs.  Goggles  and 
Dink's  parents  to  accept  a  scholarship  for  their 
two  boys  in  the  preparatory  school  selected  for 
his  son  Gilbert. 

It  was  the  first  of  September.  Four  boys,  sur- 
rounded by  relatives  and  friends,  were  in  the  rail- 
road station;  one  on  his  way  to  Annapolis  to  be- 
come a  middy;  the  other  three  starting  to  attend 
a  school  in  the  North. 

As  the  train  slowly  steamed  away,  amid  the 


GOOD-BY  383 

waving  of  handkerchiefs  and  cries  of  "Good-by," 
a  group  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  last  car,  arm 
in  arm,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  —  Leander  and  Dink, 
Gilbert  and 

PIPETOWN  SANDY. 


END 


A   STORY  BY  THE  "MARCH    KING" 

THE 
FIFTH  STRING 

By  JOHN  PHILIP  SOUSA 

The  "  March  King"  has  written  much  in  a  musical  way, 
but  "  The  Fifth  String  "  is  his  first  published  story.  In  the 
choice  of  his  subject,  as  the  title  indicates,  Mr.  Sousa  has 
remained  faithful  to  his  art;  and  the  great  public,  that  has 
learned  to  love  him  for  the  marches  he  has  made,  will  be  as 
delighted  with  his  pen  as  with  his  batoa. 

"The  Fifth  String"  has  a  strong  and  clearly  defined 
plot  which  shows  in  its  treatment  the  author's  artistically 
sensitive  temperament  and  his  tremendous  dramatic  power. 
It  is  a  story  of  a  marvelous  violin,  of  a  wonderful  love  and  of 
a  strange  temptation. 

A  cover,  especially  designed,  and  six  full-page  illustra- 
tions by  Howard  Chandler  Christy,  serve  to  give  the  dis- 
tinguishing decorative  embellishments  that  this  first  book  by 
Mr.  Sousa  so  richly  deserves. 

With  Pictures  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy 
12  mo.     Price,  $1.25 

The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


NOV  28  IQfifi 

NOV  1  5  19ob 

a  39 

UCSD  Libr. 

Illl^  524    4 


